Fuchsia Phoenix
by Emochromatic
Summary: Set after the Winter War, Szayel escapes to the human realm to start over. Eighty years later, he is discovering how tedious world domination can become. Enter a former acquaintance... Rated M for language and violence. Mostly. Shounen Ai. Nnoitra/Szayel.
1. Sunshine

**Author's Disclaimer:**

Hello to my readers, the few that I have. With this, I begin my second fanfic. The first I wrote as a oneshot describing Szayel's state after his battle with Mayuri, and in it I explored how he might have reacted when meeting Yachiru for the first time. I ended it on a cliffhanger, and I did not intend to write a second chapter, but after quite a few people indicated that they'd like to read a continuation of it, I attempted to write that second chapter. Needless to say, I failed miserably. I highly doubt a second chapter will ever happen, but what came out of that attempt was this fanfic. Smack dab in the middle of brainstorming landed my OTP, and when that happened, it was all over for a sequel.

But the story was still interesting, and as I explored it in my head, I decided it was too good an idea to pass up, so I started writing. I began it with the desire to write humorous, romantic scenes, but quickly realized my writing style would not allow it, and in the end, that was not what I was aiming for. As such, it is not a sweet, lighthearted fic. Do not go into this expecting a happy ending; it only gets darker as it progresses. I am writing this for myself primarily, as I feel I need to write this fic. If you still feel inclined to give it a shot, then please do so. I do not mean to discourage you, only write up a disclaimer so I do not mislead you and waste your time.

That said, its still a lovely story. Its not all dark; there are bright points too, especially at the beginning, and remember, I did start this as a romantic tale. The first four chapters are slow but short; they serve to set up the rest of the story, which will end up being long. If I have not put you off with this introduction, then I hope you will enjoy the story. As always, please read and review. I do love to hear what you think, the good and the bad. If I have put you off it, then may another, more interesting fic brighten your day. Perhaps someday you'll come back or I'll write something in the future that appeals to you more. Regards.

~**Tinari**

* * *

The sunshine was marvelous on his skin, not like the heatless, artificial light of Las Noches. Here on Earth, staring up at the glorious blue of a genuine sky, Szayel wondered how he'd ever thought his fabricated version could live up to the reality. It was like comparing a puddle to the ocean and then calling them the same. How foolish he'd been, how arrogant to believe his sunshine was superior. Lying on his back in the grass with real sunshine filtering through the foliage of the surrounding trees, the former Espada comprehended how truly incomplete he was, and how far from perfection.

It pained him to accept the Shinigami scientist was right, just as it pained him to flee from Hueco Mundo, a refugee. And really… looking back on his own philosophy, he could detect the supercilious flaw in his reasoning. To compare his ultimate ability, his Gabriel resurrection to the rebirth of the mythical phoenix and call it perfection was wrong. If the phoenix were a perfect being, it would not need to be reborn. It would not change. It would not live or die. It would not exist. It was not perfect, and neither was he. That he could think this was proof enough.

_Besides… perfection is a human concept and entirely subjective. My perfection is different from anyone else's definition of it._

What was his definition of perfection?

_The state where progress is rendered obsolete, where evolution ceases to meddle, where time is inconsequential and all the mortal laws and limits fall away in the face of a singular Truth. Unhindered, uncorrupted, untouchable._

Impossible… for a scientist, impossible. Science lay firmly in the realm of exploration, of chance, of failure and insight and the accumulation of knowledge. The thrill of success, the endorphin rush when he received and epiphany, even the aching disappointment of an unsuccessful experiment; these were what he lived for. Science was too rooted in life to allow perfection, for perfection was the antithesis to life. Its equal and opposite force.

_Impossible, improbable… but necessary. What is the meaning of life? To find meaning. What is the meaning of my life? To achieve perfection. Perfection is the meaning of life, the driving ambition of the soul, the constant progress towards something better… and I know I will never reach it. I know tomorrow will be no better than yesterday. I have lost my perfection, and thus, I have lost my meaning in life. What then is there left to live for?_

Szayel closed his eyes against the sunlight. It was too bright, too real, and he too insubstantial. Wrong. An aberration. He did not belong in this warm, vibrant world, he who could not be seen by its natural inhabitants.

_What is my meaning in life? What do I do now that I have no purpose to exist?_

A tendril of wind curled over his face, bringing with it the fragrance of flowers and decaying leaves. The white noise of traffic racing down the street that bounded one side of the urban park hummed distantly in his ears, interspersed with the occasional notes of birdsong in the canopy or the trilling laughter of children playing a few yards away. A blade of grass tickled his cheek, prompting him to break off the offending shoot and twirl it absently between his fingers, and all the while, the sun shone down on his prostrated body and seeped like honey, languorously into his bones.

Szayel opened his eyes.

_If I have no purpose, I'll create one. Out of the ashes of my old life I'll invent a new one. I will be reborn._

Yes. That was it. The scientist sat up and looked around, _really_ looked around. The human world was a riot of life, vitality everywhere, possibility around every corner. A veritable treasure-trove of raw potential, and here… here he could choose to be whoever he wanted. He was one among many, free of the onerous obligations that came with Aizen's feudal hierarchy. Free market tycoons lay down the law. The dominant system was Capitalism.

Szayel savored the word, rolling it around his tongue. It tasted spicy, and he smiled as he stood.

"I will shape this world as I see fit and mold it to my aesthetic. The powerful will dance to my tune, and the poor will make my vision their ambition. I will become their Inventor, their God. They will live as though they never lived before my arrival, and I will rule them with Capitalism as their religion and greed their guide," he announced to the sky. It gazed down at him, serene, uncaring.

A revolution. A revolution of technology and the dawn of a new era of power. Why? Because it amused him that on a whim, he could single handedly bring humanity under his sway, leaving Soul Society to look on helplessly. Because he had nothing better to do with his time.

His immolation was complete. Szayel felt the funereal shroud of doubt that had followed him from Hueco Mundo fall away, dissolving in the sunshine. He was a phoenix ascending now on a new thermal draft, with the precepts of Capitalism beneath his wings.

The former Espada grinned. Things were once again interesting.


	2. Catharsis

Karakura Town was the obvious place to start. Not because it was a thriving hub of industry and culture- on the contrary, it was a quaint little city compared to the metropolis of Tokyo and many of Japan's larger urban centers- but because of the historical context. It seemed poetic to stage his coup against Soul Society and its human wards in the town where his fellow Arrancar had suffered their ignominious defeat. There were also two other reasons for his decision. The first was that he would have less initial competition in establishing a business in a smaller city, and the idea that he would be the reason for its eventual transformation into the next Tokyo or London or Beijing was very appealing. The second was that, should the Shinigami come looking for him, they wouldn't expect him to hide so flagrantly under their noses, not with Kurosaki and co. gallivanting through the streets with inflated egos and hero complexes to match. Surely evil would do well to flee for less dangerous parts? No Arrancar could be that suicidal. Right?

…The substitute Shinigami was so stupid, it sickened him, but it was this stupidity that allowed him to carry out his plan without interruption. Idiocy was a valuable asset; companies traded in idiocy, money was just the physical manifestation of it.

A blessing then that humans were idiots. Irritating yes, but a blessing. It allowed the elite to rise above the brute, blind, dumb, unoriginal masses. After all, at this level, he did not bandy in money; he bandied in futures.

But first… to establish himself. Dreaming only propelled one so far, and results were much more satisfying than nebulous plans. To climb the social status ladder of humanity, he needed connections, and to gather connections, he needed money. Money, and a visible body. It was time to revisit his past if he wanted to fulfill his schemes.

This was a task he'd skirted up until now. A month had passed since the Winter War, a month during which he'd found himself wandering the countryside aimlessly, recovering from his brutal disillusionment and struggling to repair his shattered self-confidence. Magnetically, irresistibly, Karakura Town had drawn him back, though when he'd first found himself there, he'd no idea why. There wasn't anything particularly striking about the city, other than the unusually high number of spiritually sensitive people. But gradually, Szayel had come to terms with his situation, culminating in his self-proclaimed renewal of a day ago. Precise as ever, he'd spent the rest of the afternoon and evening drafting plans and industriously writing out calculations that led him towards one overarching conclusion; he needed to return to Las Noches. Specifically, to his lab.

It was a course of action he'd only just now been able to accept. The task was daunting, but necessary, both economically and emotionally. Returning to his lab would be a cathartic experience and the motivational spur he needed to move on. It had to be done.

Szayel steeled himself and opened a Garganta to Las Noches.

***

His lab lay in shambles. He'd expected that, but the reality still came as a blow to him. All the time, energy, and devotion he'd poured into it… for naught.

The Uryuu boy or that red-haired Shinigami with the war paint on his body had taken their revenge, for as despicable as Kurotsuchi was, he wasn't a wasteful man. He was a scientist, and would be a fool to destroy his research, even if they didn't see eye to eye. Knowledge was still knowledge after all.

Szayel kicked aside the serpentine electrical cords and fragmented machinery that littered the floor. His computer's burned out corpse hunched in the corner, and he imagined the toxic, chemical cloud that must have hovered over its broken wreck when it first caught fire. It was old destruction, likely from the day Mayuri had "killed" him. That was a terrible memory, and only Mayuri's arrogance had saved him. Through Gabriel, he'd recreated himself in one of his passing Fraccion- the technique was designed to function even if he was incapacitated and on the verge of death- and slipped away unnoticed.

The whole wing was eerily silent as he walked, except for the ceramic clink of broken tile striking broken tile and his own, light footsteps as he tread on the shattered stone. His living experiments had escaped or been slaughtered; their gibbering cries no longer echoed sorrowfully down the halls, and if the Shinigami had done such wanton damage to his material possessions, he had little doubt that they'd hunted down and murdered his Fraccion as well. This he suspected of the Quincy especially, self righteous, vendetta driven person that he was.

There were a few hidden rooms though. Rooms they would never have found and defiled. Mayuri was clever, but he hadn't the time or opportunity yet to search his wing comprehensively. And why would he? When there was so much to learn from the surface labs, why dig deeper just yet? He had centuries to pilfer research. There was no rush. So it was to one of these hidden labs that Szayel went, hoping it hadn't somehow been discovered and already raided.

The entrance looked like nothing more than a graceful, Doric column, though its impact was lessened by the proximity of numerous identical columns of the kind that dotted the whole of Las Noches. One of many, it didn't stand out.

It was an impressive illusion. One he'd actually modeled after Aizen's Kyoka Suigetsu, though his level of illusory mastery wasn't quite up to par with his creator's. If it was, then the pillar would feel solid to the touch instead of melting away to reveal its true nature. Still, it served its purpose well enough, and he'd designed it to be undetectable by Kido, so the only way it would be discovered was if some idiot just so happened to walk through it rather than meet with a faceful of stone.

The former Octava walked through the column without hesitation and into the lab within. It was an unusual lab, perhaps the strangest of all, for it existed on another plane entirely; a universe of his on creation. Much like a Negaccion cube, only not the lightless void unruly Fraccion were sentenced to for punishment. His was a sanctuary that boasted the DNA of his research. All his findings were contained within; it was a library of his data backed up in hard copies on shelves and digitally on the master computer of his wing. His fail safe in the case of disaster. Even if everything else went to hell, he'd still be able to rebuild from here.

Szayel ran his hands across the shelves, over the leather bound backs of tomes filled with his diagrams and concepts, over the cool metallic surfaces of filing cabinets, skimmed the smooth casing of his monitor and, though it was a repository, not a research lab, the equipment he deemed so vital to his livelihood he'd stored it in this Noah's Arc of scientific achievement. All was here as he'd left it, untouched, and in a world that had recently lost its cohesion, the knowledge that something remained exactly as he'd created it was empowering.

He fought the urge to curl up on one of his reading chairs and rest. He'd eventually have enough time for that on his hands. More than enough really. With a wistful sigh, he exited the room, stepping back into the ruin of his wing, and turning around, plunged his hand back into the insubstantial column. His fingers wrapped around an object, small and spiky, and he _twisted_. The column flickered, fading away as the illusion died. In his palm lay a nearly transparent cube, visible only by the iridescent sheen of its surface. Much like a soap bubble, only more solid and box-like rather than spherical. How remarkable that the essence of his life's work was confined to a cube no bigger than his thumb. How fragile everything was. Even the most carefully laid plan had the potential to fail and should be treated as if it were certain to fail.

What a fatalistic way of thinking… Szayel slid the precious cargo into his pocket and opened his final Garganta. There would be no more visits to his lab in Las Noches. Opening rifts in reality drew too much attention to himself, and there was nothing left for him here. This world was dead now, a realm of scattered hopes and jaded memories; the last worthwhile relict sat in his pocket. A sad fate for the kingdom that had once challenged Soul Society…

Szayel stepped through the Garganta without a backward glance.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

My... he's a cynical person, isn't he? And here we have my excuse for why he's even alive. Had to fill the plot hole somehow. I enjoyed creating his secret lab though. It seemed like something he'd do.


	3. Ascension

It was so easy to establish himself in the human world. Pathetically easy. Humans were sheep, easily herded by the promise of profit. They enslaved themselves willingly to the green he flashed so casually. Here, everything could be bought, and all that was required was superficial semblance of respectability. He donned a new form with coal black hair, penetrating eyes, and a charming smile. He shook hands in the sunlight, slipped surreptitious bills to grasping fingers in the shade, and laughed when that money trickled back to him through his expanding stock.

***

He watched from his office as Karakura Town grew. It was industrializing rapidly, thousands of workers lured by his flourishing firm. Phoenix Corporations, he called it. A darling move, but he had gone ahead and taken the risk, putting his pride above practicality. _They_ hadn't noticed. He was safe, and his brainchild developed uninhibited. The rising Phoenix, investors called it, and rushed to claim a piece of the glory. Rival organizations rumbled mutinously as public opinion swayed towards the upstart company.

***

Political war, raging in the courts. Accusations whirled back and forth as panic seized the economic giants. Plagiarism! they cried. Patent infringement! Corruption! Illegal connections! But he'd kept his hands clean and erased the unwholesome dealings of his younger days from the records. He turned their arguments around, silencing some with the blackmail he'd quietly gathered, exposing the stubborn rest who would not back down to public scrutiny. They tore themselves apart and he absorbed the corpses of their industries into his own as he rose above them all, triumphant.

***

The Inventor, they called him. A reclusive, eccentric figure made famous throughout the world by his brilliant products that revolutionized modern innovation. They were bold, like nothing the world had ever known, and sustainable. Environmentalists hailed him as a savior. Japan declared him a national treasure. From clothes to transportation to energy and farming techniques to weaponry… he dominated industry. Yet no one knew his name, and no one could trace his face back to any photograph. He was a mystery, never leaving his company, and he cultivated this mystique assiduously. The world held its breath, the media breaking through with a supposed shot of him every so often, all proven false eventually. Over time, his reclusive habits and wealth drew a cult following so great, no celebrity could compare. And unlike celebrities, his star remained unsullied by scandal. Pure. Perfect…

***

Governments deferred to him, nervous. He was quickly achieving a monopoly on everything, his momentum unfaltering. Political dissent stirred again, though not from the moribund industries where they'd first surfaced. Nations began to pour their resources into government controlled companies, realizing the dire straights that their economy and free trade faced. It was too late; his products were so ingrained in society, they could not overthrow him. The tariffs they erected against him were torn down by public revolt without him lifting a finger. He was the Inventor after all; the philanthropist who'd dedicated his life to improving the lives of others. What right had the government to stand against him? By the time the UN staged their war on his "Communism," it was too late and too feeble, terminating after a week.

Their image faltered while his ascended to godly heights. Graciously, he took a step back, lightening his heavy hold on innovation. Variety was good, he said. Everyone needed options, and he would not deprive the world of this basic freedom to choose. Creativity was the light of the soul; he most of all should know that, so to protect humanity from this dangerous accumulation of power in the hands of a single man, he invited new, brilliant rivals to challenge him, to aid him in making the world a better place to live. He founded schools and foundations and grants, even while he handpicked his competitors, carefully eliminating those that posed a real threat. There was no competition, not really, at the heart of things. His bowing out was just a gesture while he pulled the strings from above.

***

Ichigo dead. Died in an accident at the age of forty. Just another number. Orihime too, and the Quincy boy. Different accidents. Equally anonymous. Chad survived; a guardian with no one left to protect.

***

Those parasites known as the media had a field day when he died.

"The Inventor, highly regarded as the father of modern technology passed away early this morning after sixty years of innovation. Questions abound over who will be named his successor, and amidst the chaos surrounding the death of one of our most beloved icons, the rumor that his son has stepped up as heir to Phoenix Corporations is as shocking as it is sensational. His son, heretofore unknown, has released no statement to the press as of yet, but he is expected to come forward within the next day or so… it may be hoped that Phoenix Co. is not destined for decline, but a new beginning…"

Szayel listened to the news feed from his labyrinthine suite in the underbelly of his sprawling corporation, marveling at how "death" did wonders for his popularity. Dying inspired nostalgia, and nostalgia raised him forever on a pedestal. Few spoke ill of the dead after all.

Consummation at last; the world was irrevocably his.

* * *

**Author's Comments:**

By far the shortest chapter I've written so far. Perhaps it will remain the shortest. Perhaps I will outdo myself and write an even shorter chapter. That remains to be seen.

I felt a time lapse was needed as I didn't want to go into detail over eighty years of history when instead I could portray it as snapshots in time. I thought it would be more effective this way.

Edit: Fixed the line breaks. Apparently, this website doesn't like plus signs.


	4. Ennui

Szayel curled up disconsolately on his couch, staring vacantly off into space. So many diseases had he cured, and he'd even engineered a handful himself just to watch the pharmaceutical companies scramble to combat the pandemics. They were funny creatures, humans… so obsessed with their own mortality, but surprisingly genius from time to time. Designing and releasing his manufactured plagues could not compare to the thrill of watching a species struggle to solve his lethal puzzles, though occasionally he was forced to drop hints so humanity wouldn't be completely obliterated by some of his more complex challenges.

But even he could not invent a cure for the ennui that gradually settled over him. After a time, he even stopped inventing new plagues, letting Nature do the job herself; he'd grown desensitized to the sight of billions suffering from illness and the thrill of counting down to a biological holocaust no longer entertained him like it used to, not when he knew the end result.

_If ever there was a god, he must be incredibly bored right now_, he mused, turning over to stare at the ceiling. His eyes unfocused again after a minute or two, and he stared through the shimmering, artificial skylight he had installed without really taking in its existence.

_But of course there is no god. He would have murdered all of us a long time ago and started over. The monotony of eternity would have driven him to homicide in the hope that something would change. I know… I'm so bored right now, and its only been eighty years. No intelligent being could have the patience for several millennia of this…_

Szayel turned over again, his face towards the back of his couch now. Reality had taken on a glazed appearance; nothing seemed solid anymore. His own flesh appeared transparent to him when he raised it to the light, his hair faded to a wan shade of gray. Or maybe that was all in his head? The scientist despaired, feeling insanity creeping up on him as he succumbed to dispassion…

This was not right. This was not right this was not right _**THIS IS NOT RIGHT**__._

Szayel forced himself to sit up, and unsteady, he gripped the edge of the couch as the world reeled before him.

_What is my meaning in life?_ he asked himself with a sudden surge of desperation. Where had that passion come from? _Fear_, he realized. _Fear that I am losing myself._

_ What is my meaning in life?_

He waited in dread for his mind to supply the answer, but nothing came. Nothing. He had nothing. His life was once again without meaning.

_Oh god… I've done it. I've done the impossible. I've achieved perfection… the perfect being… I am the perfect being._

The future unfolded before him and it was a dim, unchanging thing. In a fit of whim, he laughed at the cruel irony of fate. Eternal youth, wealth, power, the devotion of millions… what every man desired, aspired to… embodied in him. And he did not want it.

_Perfect! Haha! I'm perfect! I'm God! _

Szayel laughed and laughed while the tears streamed down his face, his nerves too frayed to settle on either emotion. He did not stop crying for well over an hour, and the tears wrought salty tracks down his cheeks that seemed as though they would never leave him. But of course, they did. One damp washcloth was all it took to erase the misery from his face. Examining himself in the mirror, Szayel was greeted by the sight of his now familiar reflection.

Lies, all of it. The young, handsome face that stared back at him was not his. The shining curtain of black hair and the warm brown of his irises were not his. Not even his tragic expression was his own, conveyed by this false doppelganger. His fingers clenched around the washbasin of his sink, and he strode out of the room towards his walk in closet, throwing open the doors with mounting passion. He stalked into the darkness without pause, and even the transition from Earthly suite to his otherworldly lab did not cause him to falter. In the privacy of his lab, he stripped off his human gigai with disgust and relished the pain of unsynching with the cumbersome vessel.

It was liberating to flex his own muscles, and so sweet to charge a cero. The release from obligation made him giddy for a moment, until the reason for this action crushed him once again. Borne down by the knowledge that he at once possessed everything and nothing, Szayel stopped and thought.

_ What am I doing? Escaping? To what? For how long? Sooner or later, I'll stagnate again. I've got to keep moving, got to find new meaning. Where?_

Not here. Not in himself, but outside. Out there. In a perfect universe, he'd find no answers. It took the flawed, teeming, mortal world to provide that change.

Szayel sighed and retrieved a second gigai, slipping it on. This one was still false, but truer than the last. Golden eyes stared out from beneath a shock of bright pink hair. No glasses of course; such ancient tech would be a dead giveaway. They were anachronistic in this era, though some still wore them as a fashion statement. It would have to do. He wanted to bee seen, wanted to exist. For so long, he'd been faceless.

He wanted out, wanted it with every fiber of his being. If he did not get out _now_ he would go mad. The desire was like a terrible itch that would not leave and grew more ardent with each passing minute until he was on fire with the sheer _need._

It was entirely illogical, and Szayel didn't care. He'd ceased caring about the logic of things a long time since. Trembling with anticipation, he opened a Garganta out of his lab. Its precise endpoint was unknown to him, but it would leave him somewhere in the city. The randomness of his destination set his nerves to fluttering in a way they hadn't for decades. He did not bother to quell them as he stepped into the maelstrom of energy, only swathed himself in invisibility so that his sudden appearance among the humans would go unmarked.

* * *

**Author's Comments:**

... I swear I'm not a conspiracy theorist. Honestly. Conspiracy theorists are silly people. :P Its just he strikes me as the type to develop a disease. Not to make money, but to amuse himself. All commentary by the character does not necessarily parrot my own beliefs, and if I have insulted anyone, then know I did not mean it, and this holds for all future chapters as well. I am merely attempting to stay in character according to my interpretation of Szayel's personality. On to the next chapter!

Edit: It was brought up that the time jump between chapter 3 and 4 is a little disorienting. I'd noticed this myself, but had already published, so I didn't fix it. Instead I'll say here that there is a twenty year jump between his "dying" and the start of Ennui, thus bringing the total count of years he has spent on Earth up to eighty.**  
**


	5. Contact

The Garganta left him above a busy street. Pedestrian traffic milled below him, colorful in its variety. He sonidoed over to a side street, stepping into the shadow of a building as he lit his invisibility slough off. Rejoining the human throng was simple, and he let the living current carry him along.

It had to be Main Street he'd landed in… the busiest corridor in all of Karakura town- no, Karakura City. It had changed its name some forty years back with the advent of its accelerated urbanization. The sides of the thoroughfare were lined with skyscrapers that cast it into perpetual shade. Only a narrow strip of sunlight brightened the middle of the street during high noon when the sun was at its zenith.

Szayel felt claustrophobic in the bustling mass of humanity, and at the first opportunity, slipped off onto a less traveled street. Even this proved too populated for his comfort, and he continued selecting new, sparser streets, gradually working his way out of the heart of the city and into the small scale commercial districts. The shop fronts were fresh and appealing, advertising pastries, coffee, and antiques. _Some things never change_, he thought, relieved by the ordinary sight. The world had changed so fast because of him, but he, isolated from the bulk of his own influence, had been left behind. Ironic.

_ But now what? Now that I'm here, what do I do?_

He could stop by one of the cafes and order something; sit at one of the curbside tables and sip a cup of tea while he watched the passersby and enjoyed the open air. He could pretend for a day that he was not the most powerful man on Earth and delight in the anonymity of being just another person window-shopping aimlessly.

_A day that would come and go, leaving me unfulfilled tomorrow and the next day after. I can't spend eternity pretending._

Why did humans long to be immortal? Didn't they realize how tedious living became?

_I suppose I should pity them, ignorant creatures. They don't know there is an afterlife, so they go about their worthless human lives trying to figure out how to extend them. Its pathetic how desperate they get, but then… it's a way to pass the time, and no matter how trivial it all turns out to be, they are happy after a fashion…_

Something tightened in his chest and he stopped, suddenly breathless. Happiness… the word pulled at his heart, and the scientist felt an inexplicable urge to cry.

_Was I ever happy?_

The answer seemed incredibly important.

His experiments were fun. They kept him occupied and amused him. Could this be considered happiness? Holding power over others thrilled him. Could this be considered happiness? Winning, executing a plan and watching it play out flawlessly brought him satisfaction. Could this be considered happiness? What _was_ happiness? The answer he dredged up brought a bitter smirk to his lips. It was so hollow…

_Happiness: An emotion. Caused by chemical switches in the brain that trigger the release of certain hormones. Often associated with a giddy feeling, smiling, and laughter, it is also known to relieve stress levels._

It seemed he was incapable of feeling happiness. Scrolling through all his experiences, he could not pin down a single, unambiguous happy moment. Happy, that was, according to the romanticized idea, not his clinical definition. God, he couldn't even ascribe proper imagery to it he was _that_ alienated. Yet humans tossed the term around so casually. The Americans even included it as a God given right in their laws: life, liberty, and the pursuit of _happiness._

Szayel hunched his shoulders and walked faster, suddenly longing to be out of the cheery district with its pleasant faced shops and easy going natives. He was not welcome here. He did not fit in. Whatever he was searching for, he would not discover it in among these quaint avenues. The Arrancar lengthened his stride, but kept his eyes open to avoid running into someone taking a stroll of his own. Rather than stare at the pavement, he looked straight ahead, losing himself in the scenery instead of a vision of cracking cement. It had about the same effect; numbing and vaguely therapeutic. Staring off into space, he didn't have to think. Trees and signs and faces floated by, equally generic and disconnected from any real meaning. He was just settling into a routine rhythm when one passerby's face jolted him out of his self-imposed stupor.

No. It couldn't be.

Szayel did a double take, his head jerking around to assure himself of what he'd seen.

_Impossible! He's dead!_

Conscious of his awkward action, he turned and kept on walking, slightly bewildered. He thought he saw the man glance back at him out of the corner of his eye, but that was nothing unusual, considering he'd all but stopped and ogled him like some slack jawed dimwit. Of course it would attract some transient curiosity. But…

_He died over eighty years ago… how…? … Oh! Oh… that makes sense…_

Szayel felt like an idiot. Their physical resemblance was strikingly similar, enough to confuse him at first, but closer analysis revealed the disparities. His spiritual energy was unremarkable human, and both eyes were intact.

_His reincarnation… of all the ridiculous coincidences, I run into his human reincarnation today. Here. In this city._

The notion prompted a giggle, which he indulged, straightening his shoulders as a smile touched his lips for the first time in awhile. So life continued… a cycle.

_Still, it's unusual for a reincarnation to take after its former appearance so strongly. Not unheard of, but still rare. Usually, there is some influence on the essential personality and on their fortune but… hmmm… I wonder-_

Whatever he wondered was promptly vanquished as a large hand clamped around his mouth and dragged him into the adjoining alley.

_What the hell? _

The change from bright street to dark alley blinded him momentarily to his captor's profile. His hands were yanked behind him brutally, and he felt the cold of metal closing over his wrists before he was spun around again and slammed into a wall. His shoulders protested this rough treatment and his arms ached, twisted into an unnatural position. His assailant meanwhile did not let up on the suffocating hold he maintained over his mouth until, with a metallic snick, he succeeded in snapping a collar around his throat. Only then did he ease off, replacing his hand with the threat of a knife. One of his own design, he noticed absently.

"Don't yell," he warned, "The collar will interfere with sound above a certain decibel level. Cooperate nicely and I'll let ya live."

Oh _God_… his voice was exactly the same; low, husky, with a threatening undercurrent that promised violence. He blinked his eyes, trying to clear his vision, and the face of his captor swam into view. It really was striking how alike they were…

Hands felt him up, patting him down, reaching into his clothes and brushing his skin. His eyes widened at this sudden intrusion of privacy. Incoherent with shock, Szayel only managed a strangled gasp as the man ran his fingers down his ribs. He looked up, one eyebrow raised in amusement, his lips curling into that damnable lascivious smile.

"I thought at first you were some flat-chested rich chick when I saw you, but I guess it doesn't matter what you are the way you're moanin'"

Szayel flushed, defensive.

"Fuck you! I'm not moaning, and besides, you're the one molesting me!"

"Mugging," he corrected with a cocky grin, his hands sliding lower. Szayel jumped at the contact, his face heating up with humiliation at his own reaction.

"Then why not just ask me where I keep my money?"

His voice came out slightly higher pitched than he'd hoped. _Wonderful…_

Human Nnoitra paused, then smirked, removing his hands from his body. In their absence, Szayel felt cold. His shirt had hitched up from the unwarranted search, exposing his stomach to the chill of the alley. His overcoat hung half way off his shoulders at a rakish angle. If it weren't for his wrists bound awkwardly behind him, it probably would have fallen off entirely.

"How do I know you won't try an' shit me with some decoy card?" he asked.

"Because I want you to stop harassing me so I can get on with my day," Szayel replied, glaring.

"I dunno…" Human Nnoitra remarked with a wolfish grin, "You seemed to be enjoyin' yourself. Your pulse started racin' and your skin heated up real fast when I touched you like- "

"I don't swing that way," he interjected icily, "And it shouldn't matter to you in any case. You're mugging me, remember?"

"Sure. If you say so."

_ You bastard! You goddamn bastard!_

Szayel fumed at the injustice of it all. _He_ was human while _Szayel_ was an Arrancar with powerful abilities and immeasurable influence in the mortal realm. So how was it that he could reduce him to this pathetic state so easily? Held hostage in an alley with a bloody _dog_ collar around his throat no less. Why had he even invented those collars in the first place? Well ok… dog barking had always bothered him, but surely it wasn't worth this, and those damned free form manacles… Sure they'd gone over well with law enforcement, but he should have figured they'd get out on the blackmarket and be used this way and _**arrgh!**_

_I should have killed off everyone with that last pandemic_… he thought miserably.

"Hey. You gonna tell me where you keep your credit or do I have ta search you again?"

Szayel jolted out of his mutinous reverie.

"Dammit, its in my pocket! I don't know why you didn't check there first!"

"Who keeps their credit in their pocket anymore?" asked Nnoitra, shaking his head as he reached in and plucked out his wallet with deft fingers. Szayel watched him rifle through the handful of bills, then slide the single, indigo credit card out of its holder before he finally glanced down at his hapless victim.

"A couple 'a ones, some change, no ID… what the hell kind of decoy is this? And what kind of a card is this supposed to be? Never heard of a solid indigo card. I'm disappointed… you really think that little of my intelligence?"

His words were playful, his tone light, but his actions dark and decidedly unplayful. He tossed the wallet aside contemptuously and settled into a half squat so that their eyes were level.

"Hey," he said, "I'm not playin' anymore. Unless you want me to strip you right now and leave your sorry ass naked in the alley, you'll tell me where you're hiding your money."

Rather than yelling or lashing out with righteous indignation, Szayel felt incredibly weary. He let his shoulders slump and he closed his eyes, not caring to meet Nnoitra's reincarnation's gaze or engage in any more pointless arguments.

"Fine. Have it your way," he spat callously, rising out of his crouch. The knife flashed as he levered it under his shirt, preparing to slice open the front. The serrated edge caught… but did not tear the material.

"That's not going to work. This material would turn a bullet, and it doesn't conduct electrical currents either. Just in case you were wondering, since I noticed your knife's model has a built in taze function. The cloth also detects toxins that can absorb transdermally and switches accordingly to an airtight function up to par with a hazmat suit. It's pretty resilient against strong acids too. I designed it with the fashion conscious elite in mind, as assassination attempts are regrettably commonplace," he supplied as Human Nnoitra's eyes widened in surprise.

"What the fuck are you talking about? You designed this stuff?"

"Designed, invented, created… its all the same," he replied flippantly. If his hands were free, he would have gestured dismissively to further emphasize his point.

"Is this on the market yet?"

"Not yet, and it won't be on the public market either. These will be custom fit to order, with not a one alike. The only thing that they'll all share in common is that they're skin tight, so you can wear them underneath clothing or even as clothes since they buyer dictates appearance. As such, it's incredibly expensive. I'd like to delay its underworld spread as much as possible, though the Mafia dons will inevitably learn of its existence after one of their planned vendettas fail, but as I run the industry, I can be selective about who I sell to. Mmm… perhaps I'll sell some to an underdog organization with potential… have them get rid of some of the more uppity gangs. Then I'd have blackmail over the most powerful Family. I do believe I like that idea…"

Szayel trailed off as he mused on this prospect. Criminal organizations had nothing on him. He made sure they gained no leverage over him, and when it came to push and shove, he had the greater technology and the means to use it. They needed him, and they knew it. Some underground groups even grumbled that he was the most successful con artist of all, and his Phoenix Corporations a mob unto itself. They had no idea how accurate their muttered speculations were.

"Who are you really?"

Human Nnoitra's voice broke through his train of thought, and he glanced up at him.

"What ever do you mean?" he inquired mildly.

"Your clothes looked expensive when I saw you, so I figured at the time you'd be loaded, but now you claim to be the head of some corporation, you've got tech that's still off the market, and you're spouting some pretty scary stuff so casually. Then there's the fact you don't carry money around. At first I thought you were BSing me, but now I'm not so sure. Now I think you're telling the truth, and the reason you've got no money with you is 'cause you're so filthy rich you don't need to. No ID either. Shit! Who could be that famous, that they don't need an ID or money? And yet, I don't recognize your face… so who the fuck are you?"

Human Nnoitra had gone from serious to confused. He looked troubled as he voiced his reasoning, even going so far as to pace a little. Szayel found this unsettled version incredibly amusing as he'd only seen the former Espada rattled on one other occasion. Up until now, he'd been calling the shots, but now the scientist saw his opportunity. Things had changed. This was now a game for him to play. Szayel smiled; the knowledge that he was in control was a heady thing.

"Oh, you wouldn't believe me if I told you," he remarked airily, looking away.

"Try me," Human Nnoitra growled.

Szayel yawned, composing his next words with exquisite delight.

"Alright. I'm the Inventor."

A pause. Human Nnoitra stared in disbelief.

"You're joking," he finally said.

"No joke," Szayel replied, "I knew you wouldn't believe me."

"Who would! The Inventor's dead and his son would be middle aged by now."

"Yes that is a problem, isn't it? Death. Well, I got over that speed bump centuries ago. I also don't have a son by the way."

"You're insane!"

"I have been accused of that before, though for entirely different reasons," was Szayel's thoughtful comment, "Anyhow, look here man. I'm dead. Have been for ages. So lets get over that fact and move on. You said it yourself; who could be so famous and yet remain unknown to the public? As the Inventor, I never showed my face to a camera. Who else could I be?"

"As if I'd believe that shitty reasoning! You're probably just some rising head of an up and coming inventing firm."

Szayel sighed. Sometimes humans could be so maddeningly stubborn.

"Fair enough. I understand it's difficult to accept what I'm saying, so I'll do you a favor and prove it to you."

It would be easy. Unsynch from his gigai, put the restraints on _him_, and renter his body. The man would be terrified when Szayel collapsed, his heartbeat a flatline and his breathing stopped. He'd be even more terrified when some invisible force grabbed him and bound him, then again when his "dead" body revived. Hell, he might still insist on denying it after all that. Some humans were exceptionally staunch in their beliefs, and "logic" a powerful tool in the hands of fools, but even if he remained unconvinced, it would still be fun to scare him.

"Oh really? How do you intend to do that?" he asked cynically.

Szayel laughed.

"By dying, and then coming back to life," he replied.

And then he died.

Stripped the fabricated body from his soul.

It tumbled forward against Human Nnoitra, cold and lifeless; a corpse.

Szayel exulted in the freedom from its leaden limbs and, looking down to see his reaction…

And met with something entirely unexpected.

Nnoitra was looking at him. Not the gigai, but _him._

_He can see me!_

His frozen expression confirmed this peculiar turn of events.

"W-what the hell are you?" he stammered, his angular eyes wider than he'd ever seen them. _Oh_, that stammer was endearing. Szayel could smell the fear on him, rolling off in sour waves, and he smiled at him indulgently, as one might at a child who'd just asked a particularly naïve question.

"Not human," he replied, "Or not anymore. I haven't been human in a long time. But what's unusual is that you can see me like this."

Szayel tapped his chin theatrically and tilted his head, narrowing his eyes as he appraised him.

"N-not human…" Human Nnoitra laughed nervously, his voice stuttering over the first syllable as his trepidation choked him, "I thought you said you were dead."

"Oh I am. I was telling the truth, but after I died, I became a nasty monster because my soul wasn't pure. And do you know what monsters eat, hmm?"

Human Nnoitra remained silent, and Szayel clapped his unbound hands together with delight as he supplied the dreaded answer.

"We eat people of course! Souls, specifically. Souls with high spiritual energy or high latent potential to be even more precise, and you," He prodded the petrified human playfully at this point, "Have a soul of exceptional spiritual power. That you can see me so clearly testifies to that. It's really quite a rare ability. You should feel proud of yourself. I'm actually rather surprised no one's tried to eat you before now. Perhaps your power only woke recently?"

Human Nnoitra blanched, then finally snapped.

"Stay away from me!" he shouted, taking a step back.

Szayel shushed him slyly.

"Don't yell," he advised, "You'll only draw attention to yourself and the dead body you are holding in this alley."

"Bastard!" he growled through clenched teeth, but he was caught and he knew it, and this filled Szayel with inordinate glee.

"No running just yet," Szayel warned with a beatific smile, "I'm not going to eat you. I've no need to at the moment, and the novelty of your being able to see me is more appealing than the onetime meal you'd provide. Lets talk. What's your name? How old are you?"

"Takeda Nobu, twenty five," he replied heavily. Then, as if this submissiveness didn't sit well with him, which it probably didn't, he frowned and returned the question rebelliously. "So what about you?"

"A Japanese, hmm? And with your height? Your parents must be tall," he remarked, evading the question. Human Nnoitra, no Takeda, scowled. He seemed to be calming down a bit.

"Nah, my parents are normal. Had no idea where I sprang from. Look, I can see where you'd be touchy about age, but at least ya can tell me a name other than 'the Inventor.'"

"I can imagine…" murmured Szayel, who'd received the answer he'd expected, then, "My name? For you, the Inventor should suffice. Why should I tell a human my real name?"

"Why not?" he countered, clearly gaining confidence now that his life didn't seem to be in any immediate danger.

Szayel considered it, then shrugged, relenting. It really didn't matter.

"I am Szayel Aporro Grantz."

"A Westerner?"

"Do I look Japanese?"

"Not really," he admitted, "But with all the corrective surgery nowadays and the eccentric billionaires takin' a shot at foiling genetics, its hard to tell."

Their conversation came to a momentary standstill as each descended into private thoughts. Takeda still held his discarded gigai, and taking note of this fact himself, set it down so that it slouched against the wall. Szayel followed his movements lazily, wondering what he was thinking about. He appeared to be pondering something quite seriously, his expression tense but distant as he bent and retrieved the abandoned wallet, pulling out the scorned indigo card.

"How much is on here?" he asked. He was avoiding the question he really wanted to know, starting things off lower key. Szayel decided to play along.

"Nothing's on that card," Szayel replied, "It is a key to access my account, which contains more than you could easily name. It also requires confirmation from my spiritual energy to function. If I'm not holding it, it won't scan, and it is the only way to open my account. Whether I lose it or not is irrelevant. Feel free to keep it if it suits your fancy."

"You're a paranoid person, aren't you?"

"I wouldn't say paranoid, as I do not live in fear that my money will be taken from me. On the contrary, I don't particularly care. I am merely a careful person. It is in my nature to anticipate all possibilities and set things up accordingly to prevent the unsavory ends. I like order, stability dictated by myself… control if you will."

"If you're some sort of undead monster, then how come you've done so much for us humans? You're supposed to be a philanthropist."

"Hnn… do not misunderstand me. I put on appearances to ingratiate myself with the public, but only to further my own goals. In my eyes, humans are nothing more than things to be manipulated. All those kind gestures were just that; gestures. As a result, the world lies in the palm of my hand. If I wanted to, I could bring about the next world war or unleash a devastating plague to ravage the planet, this time with no secret tips to the pharmaceutical companies on how to dismantle it. Or maybe I'd speed up the evolution of another species and pit humanity against a new force? Hmm… that last one sounds like it could be fun…"

Takeda grew quiet at this piece of information. A wan shade had once again replaced the color in his cheeks, but he was not as cowed this time. Instead, it seemed to spur him to ask the question he really wanted the answer to. It began as a statement.

"You're bored," he said, quiet but unflinching. "You were bored, so you took over th' world, and now that you have, you're bored again. But…"

"But…? Do continue."

"But… you haven't really formed any attachments. There's nothin' to keep you entertained. Nothin' new, 'cause you control everything. Just more of the same. So you left and came down to our lovely mortal cesspit and got your hands dirty wandering around. And then I mugged you."

He stopped to take a breath. In this pause, Szayel found that he was listening with interest. Not amusement, genuine interest.

"You aren't human. You could've laughed and killed me so easily. But you didn't, 'cause you had nothing better ta do. I was something new, an object to break the monotony, and when you learned I could see you, I became a toy. A 'novelty.' Yet…"

He stopped yet again, looking him in the eye. Szayel looked back with rising- what? Anticipation? Worry? He couldn't place the emotion, only feel it as it welled up inside of him.

"…there's something that's been buggin' me. Even before I dragged ya into this alley, something happened. As you walked past me, lost in thought, you stopped and turned around to stare at me. Oh, you continued on your way, but still… you reacted to my face. You looked surprised, like ya recognized me but couldn't believe it."

Szayel placed the emotion then. Panic. He felt cornered. His game was ending, the tables beginning to tilt precariously out of his favor. But he had to remain. He had to listen to those final, fateful words.

"You know me, don't you? Or, I remind you of someone you know, and that's part of the reason you were so startled when I first caught you. Who am I to you?"

Takeda phrased his question bluntly, daring him to answer with his eyes, and Szayel could not bear to meet his gaze any longer. He turned his back on him, going over his options, and Takeda waited, not moving. The world seemed to slow to a crawl, his thoughts moving at such a frantic pace that time only inched by in comparison. But time, that crafty creature, finally elicited a reply from his tacit lips.

"You remind me of someone I knew. No… that's not entirely accurate. You were someone I knew, but are no longer him. He died a long time a go by your human standards."

Takeda seemed nonplussed by this admission.

"What do you mean?"

Szayel turned back around to face him, slightly agitated, though he didn't know why.

"I mean that you are his reincarnation, though God knows you're exponentially smarter than him. What did you major in, psychology?"

"So we do reincarnate after all? Sweet! And I just happen to be the reincarnation of someone you knew…" he grinned cheekily at this revelation before adding, "I double majored in psychology an' political science. Which is why I'm reduced to mugging rich people in alleys; they don't do shit for ya job-wise, but I was young an' idealistic. Sue me."

Szayel scoffed.

"Good luck psychoanalyzing me. I'm not even human."

"But your actions are," Takeda retaliated, "and I'd say I did pretty well with that last bit."

"How about murder? Cannibalism? A God-complex?"

"Yes. They're still human, though they are pretty extreme examples I'll admit."

"Oh really? Then tell me what my relationship was with your previous reincarnation?"

Takeda paused, considering the challenge. After a few minutes of thoughtful silence, his narrow eyes glimmered with inspiration. He'd come to a conclusion. What that conclusion was remained to be seen.

"Well, from your actions towards me, I'd say it could be one of two things. Maybe even both, as the line that distinguishes between them is often blurred. However, I'll hazard a guess at th' second," he announced confidently. Szayel _hmph_ed, unimpressed.

"And what might that be?" he inquired cynically, crossing his arms.

Takeda grinned.

Reached forward.

Siezed his shoulders, drawing him in,

...Up…

And kissed him.

Szayel's body stiffened. He was paralyzed by that kiss, every thought rendered incomprehensible. His heart stuttered and died, then started up again erratically, thundering against his ribcage painfully. His lips hurt where he kissed them, aching sweetly under his mouth as they yielded willingly. His skin burned where he touched, longing to press closer to _him_, but hindered by his own frozen muscles. He couldn't breathe; all his breath was caught up in that moment, as dazed an ineffective as he…

And then he withdrew, leaving him bewildered and wanting and unable to take a single step forward. The whole event couldn't have lasted more than a few seconds, but it felt like his entire lifespan had been distilled into that single moment, giving it an ageless quality.

"N-Nnoitra…?" Szayel finally managed to stammer half-coherently. Everything seemed terribly unreal, so vivid that details only registered faintly.

"Guess I was right," he remarked, "About more than one thing."

Szayel closed his eyes and shook, trying desperately to ground himself in reality but failing miserably. His surroundings were falling to pieces, his logic faltering and stumbling over one scene which dominated all, replaying relentlessly in his mind and shutting down his reasoning abilities.

"But really… who'd've thought I'd be the one to dig up the first blackmail on the Inventor, twenty years after his supposed death and from his own mouth no less."

He laughed as he realized the double meaning to his words, and Szayel felt like strangling him. It was an impulse he knew well; the same impulse had afflicted him constantly back when they'd both dwelt in Las Noches. Every time he'd drop his innuendo after meetings, in the halls, when he showered… Those communal baths had been the bane of his existence, and he'd begged Aizen countless times to allow him to install a private one in his wing to little avail. _Water was precious_, he was told, and communal showering provided motivation to bathe faster. So Szayel had taken to showering during the odd hours of the morning when no one else was awake or in any mood to shower, Nnoitra especially.

Love. Hate. _Maybe even both_ he'd said. _The line between the two is often blurred._ Oh no. Oh no oh no _**oh no!**_

"Bye Szayel. It's been fun."

_ No! Damn it, don't you turn and leave me now!_

Too late; he'd left, surrounded by a cloud of insufferable smugness. _Victory_, the intimate usage of his first name seemed to imply.

"We're not…" he muttered brokenly to the empty space, "We weren't… lovers…"

Not lovers, no, but maybe… maybe there was more to their fighting than he'd thought. Maybe he'd even been in love?

_Oh God…_

Szayel shivered and felt as something curled up inside of him and died.

* * *

**Author's Commentary:**

At last I get to the first romantic/slightly cracky chapter. Oh mai... look how long it is in comparison to the _rest_ of the chapters. Well, I never was good at solitary character fics, so as a result, those chapters will always be short, and believe me... there will be more of them in the future. I hope I didn't totally ruin the romance though. _ Please excuse me... every time I try, it morphs into a creeper romance over time.

This is what ruined my planned second chapter to A Matter of Happenstance dammit. ;=; But it was totally worth it. I think. Yeah. I'd say so. Its actually got a plot, and I'm a sucker for plots. And who'd have thought Nnoitra's reincarnation double majored in Psychology and Political Science? Certainly not me.

Unfortunately for anyone actually enjoying this, I won't be updating for who knows how long. Whenever I find time. I wrote these first five chapters obsessively compulsively, but now I have to step back and focus on Chem. And my other needy classes. So until then... make do with these and remember to read and review! I do not think that it will take me more than a month to update though, unless I really get caught up with things.


	6. Denial

"The hell I _love_ him! I don't even _like_ him! He was a sleazy bastard back in Las Noches and is still a sleazy bastard as a human! Who the hell uses a kiss as a form of psychoanalysis? That's just fucked up! Its so… urg! He must have been a _real_ fan of Freud, the twisted son of a bitch… Everything was repressed desires and sex with him. Hah… wouldn't surprise me if that's why he went into psychology."

Szayel paced his suite, growing increasingly agitated as time passed. If he was a cat, his ears would be flat against his skull and his lips curled back in a drawn out hiss, but of course, he wasn't a cat so the comparison really wasn't applicable. He was an Arrancar. A very pissed off Arrancar, and if it wouldn't bring down the building, he'd fire ceros at everything in sight, or at least balas. Or something. He wanted to immerse himself in some incredibly violent, stupid, senseless activity. Burn. Pillage. Destroy. Maybe discredit Freud and get him removed from the psychology teaching curriculum.

Nah… not that last one. Too much thought. Szayel didn't want to think, just act. Passivity sucked! Grabbing a handful of Gin he'd left on his desk, he poured himself a shot, downed it, and slammed the sturdy glass into the tabletop. He stalked off again instantly. Motion. He needed to stay in motion or he'd lose his momentum and return to being that pathetic creature who could only react. Szayel sneered, still holding the bottle, and took a swig, relishing the way it burned his throat and curled his tongue, erasing all traces of the kiss.

"_From my actions towards him_. What bloody actions? Just because I didn't murder him on the spot, I _obviously_ must like him. Oh yes, that's just _splendid_ reasoning. Absolutely right! You figured it out, sweetheart; the relationship even I didn't know I had! Your brilliance far surpasses my own."

He laughed bitterly and took another swig of the acrid drink, never mind the fact he'd have a splitting headache later. As he delivered his impassioned soliloquy, he gestured theatrically, accentuating his every word with exaggerated drama. His words were sardonic, biting, and his cheeks glowed from a combination of his exertion and the alcohol.

"Fuck him! I ought to kill him! Show him exactly how _attached_ I am to him. I'd like to see him interpret _that_."

He paused, staring off into empty air moodily, and his expression of disgust was gradually replaced by a coy grin. He looked and sounded positively insane as he projected his voice in a smug growl.

"If ya killed me, it'd be be 'cause you're in denial. You don't want to admit it; you're too proud. The fact you'd go ta such lengths to prove a point means you care, and you know what they say about love an' hate after all…"

Szayel drew a shuddering breath and screamed. He did not want to play devil's advocate to predict how Nnoitra would respond, yet he could not help his own nature. Finding the counter argument was instinctive to him. Irritated, he tipped the bottle back and chugged several mouthfuls rebelliously.

"I went out of my way to avoid you… I showered at three in the morning in the dark so that I wouldn't have to hear your innuendos. I never even suspected you of liking me, so how could I like you? I hated- still hate your innuendoes -but that's natural. Others did too."

He chuckled as Nnoitra would and shook his head, looking faintly amused at his own protests as he once again picked up the role of devil's advocate.

"But Szayel, the fact you are embarrassed means you care about my opinion of you. If you felt nothing towards me, you'd find the comments irritating, but you wouldn't shower at three am just ta avoid me. That's too extreme. You _were_ aware of your feelings, subconsciously at least."

"No…"

His words were pleading now. His hand quavered, the bottle shaking precariously in his grip, and he found himself sitting down on the couch to steady his nerves.

"Yes…" he whispered unconsciously back to himself with a teasing grin.

"I won't accept this!" he cried, fighting back, "Its all speculation anyhow and even if I might have liked him in some twisted masochistic way, he liked me no more than any of his other favorite targets to torment and besides… there is one argument that trumps all of this shit. He's dead. Whatever I thought of him doesn't matter anymore. It died with him. He. Is. **Dead!**"

Szayel scowled and crossed his arms, waiting for his mind to supply a counter argument, but none came. Gradually, he relaxed, uncrossing his arms and expelling a deep breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. Yes… death. It solved things so neatly. His relationship with Nnoitra was inconsequential now, though reincarnation was rather inconvenient…

He shook the bottle of Gin, and the responding slosh told him it was only a quarter of the way full. Tomorrow would not be a good day, but it had been worth it. Getting drunk was worth it if he could work out the answer to that Takeda brat's impudent… action.

The memory of it caused his cheeks to flame again, and he stood abruptly, flinching as the world swayed beneath him, but he would have his tirade, damn it! Even if he could see nothing but swirling colors and his stomach felt like it was about to turn inside out.

"Why'd he have to do that!? Does he get off kissing random men he mugs on the street? Hah! He accuses _me_ of being gay while he's got his dirty hands all over me… Fucking hypocrite!"

Perhaps not the best image to bring up. All to readily, he recalled the way his skin had heated up beneath his touch, how his pulse had thrummed, how his body had jumped at the contact; how when he'd pressed his lips to Szayel's, his breath had caught in his chest and he'd lost all sensation of time…

The scientist shuddered and finished the bottle, letting it slide out of his grip as he collapsed back onto the cough, head flung back in despair.

"Is that normal? No… its not normal. I should have felt disgusted; I should have felt tainted by what he did, but instead…"

Szayel moaned and curled up, a tear crawling down his cheek in shame.

"I'm disgusting. He's disgusting. This is all so absolutely fucked up…"

More tears followed the first, streaming down his face as he sobbed in a drunken, wild grief. They found no solace in the rivulet they formed but drowned in each other as they met and were absorbed into the fabric of the couch. Self pity and self loathing mingled in his mind, becoming synonymous with each other, but Szayel was beyond caring for definitions.

_What can I do?_ He thought fleetingly, but the urgency of the matter was fading. The passion that had gripped him was leaving, his senses dulling as the alcohol killed them and left him numb to all but the wetness of the tears that blurred his eyes and branded his cheeks. But with time, even that stopped, and he was left curled up on the couch… drifting in and out of awareness… wondering what had anguished him so that he'd wept… and ultimately, his bleary eyes closed and the scientist found a semblance of peace in his drunken, dreamless sleep.

* * *

**Author's Comments:**

Yum. Chapter one of two slow "speedbump" chapters. After this next one, they'll go back to being long. And interesting. I swear.

...Mostly. Next up, good old Soul Society. -_- ...


	7. Awakening

Ichigo scowled as he watched the Shinigami who'd just handed him an extremely generous stack of paperwork scamper off to deliver an equally misery inducing packet to some other Captain.

_I hope he has something for Kenpachi too…_

The orange haired Taichō smiled briefly at the thought, then blanched. No one deserved that fate.

_Not even him, though I swear he purposefully gives me more…_

With a sigh, Ichigo shook his head and pushed the fat stack to the edge of his desk. He'd have his Lieutenant do it later… or something. He hadn't signed up for this when he'd accepted the position of Captain of the Fifth.

_Its almost enough to make me wish Aizen was still alive. At least then I had something meaningful to do. Not like this tedious work…_

Lost in reminiscing, Ichigo almost missed the Hell's butterfly. Almost. As eager as he was to ditch his paperwork, anything that even verged on distraction was seized upon eagerly. It was a summons anyways, and a legitimate reason to drop his work; all Captains were required to report to the Soutaichō's office as soon as possible. With immense relief, Ichigo pulled on his white haori, picked up Zangetsu, and shunpoed out of his division.

He wasn't the first to arrive, but then beating Soifon anywhere was impossible when she had it in her mind to get there quickly. He gave the serious female a wide berth, standing on the opposite side of the room and acknowledging her respectfully when he entered. She'd made it clear to him on past occasions that just because he was the "Hero of Soul Society" and a Captain of the Gotei 13 now, he was in no way her equal, especially as "rash and stupid" as he was, "rushing into fights with little thought to strategy" and assuming he'd get by on "sheer, dumb strength." In fact, she'd told him to go join the "barbarians of the Eleventh" and leave Captaining to someone more competent, of which she assured him there were several. _Ouch_. Ichigo had promptly made a mental note to steer clear of the moody Taichō and the Onmitsukidō she led, and in turn, she'd taken to only berating him whenever he said or did something she deemed particularly moronic in front of her.

_She hasn't forgiven me for filling in the position Shihōin turned down. Like I'm the reason Yoruichi didn't want to come back to this place. Ugh… can't say I blame her either…_

He glanced up as Byakuya made his entrance, dignified as usual. He'd hardly changed from the day they'd first met. Perhaps he looked a little older now, but the difference was really so slight it hardly mattered. Eighty years only lent him more maturity and poise.

_Unlike me. I still look like a college student._

Ichigo winced. Though his human body had aged, his soul, separated from his body at sixteen, aged at the rate of a Shinigami, which was considerably slower. It had been difficult to watch his human friends grow older while he essentially stayed the same, and after realizing what had happened, he'd taken to staying human as much as possible; the Shinigami could do their jobs just fine without him. And they did for the most part too, though occasionally he'd had to lend them a hand when they needed help. After all, with Aizen gone and the remaining Hollows and Arrancar disunified, the threat to humanity had been greatly reduced.

Jūshiro arrived next, dragging a mildly inebriated Shunsui along with him. The latter protested having been disrupted from his routine afternoon cup of sake so rudely, though he shut up at the ominous smile of the woman who followed behind him. Ichigo shuddered as well and stood straighter; though beautiful and compassionate, more lay behind Unohana's smile than mere displeasure.

The rest assembled not too long after, though Kurotsuchi did drift in on his own time with the explanation that he'd been overseeing an experiment he couldn't afford to neglect, and Zaraki was an hour late, having been off gambling in the Rukongai when he'd received his notice. True to form, he'd gotten lost on the way over. No one criticized either of the two however, except for Yamamoto, and even he only cast them wearied, reproachful looks as he began the meeting.

"I've summoned you all here today to discuss a most unsettling development. As we are all aware, Kurosaki-Taichō especially, Earth has undergone a rapid technological revolution. This in itself is not unusual; the 20th century for example was a period of political tumult, and humans made astounding leaps in the field of science. Renaissances and decades of revolutions are a hallmark of the humans species sparked by the rare, brilliant mind. However, we have come to the conclusion that this change was not instituted by a human, but a different entity; an Arrancar."

The Soutaichō paused to let his words sink in, and the assembled Captain's accepted the news gravely, all but– again –Zaraki and Mayuri. The former seemed impatient about getting to the point of this meeting while the latter occupied himself by studiously examining his fingernails for dirt… or perhaps something more frightening. Disinterest was written clearly across his painted face. If Yamamoto was bothered by this though, he gave no indication of it, forging ahead.

"What worries us is this; one man known only as the Inventor has single handedly managed to bring the world under his control through his inventing firm Phoenix Corporations. Not officially, but for all intents and purposes… if he should so desire, he could appoint himself dictator tomorrow. Such an action would be unnecessary and would only hurt him; a few decades back, he rendered the United Nations moot when they tried to wage war on him. He did what no other conqueror has managed in history; he has united the vastly disparate peoples and cultures of the world by providing unparalleled aid to developing and impoverished nations, by founding schools to promote international understanding and innovation, by eliminating hunger and cracking down on disease, and by bringing morals to politics. He took over the world not through war or occupation, but through gestures and diplomacy; by winning the people.

One might make the mistake of calling him a noble idealist who turned his visions into reality and catapulted humanity into a better era… and indeed, if we are wrong, it could be so. However, the fact remains that he has no history, no name, no face; nothing. He came out of nowhere, took the world by storm, and then supposedly died, leaving his company to his son who also appeared from nowhere and maintained the same level of secrecy. These facts, among others, make him suspect. Should he turn out to not be human, matters are very serious. His motivations then cannot be interpreted as philanthropic, but as a plot to overthrow Soul Society by taking humanity hostage. We, and all of Earth, are in peril."

"That's crazy! The Inventor wanted the best for mankind! He's an international hero, not some psychotic Arrancar bent on overthrowing Soul Society," Ichigo cried, speaking up.

"Silence Kurosaki! I understand it is difficult to remain objective given your personal history, but you are a Captain of the Gotei 13. Know your place and duty! You are no longer a child."

Ichigo ducked his head, humiliated, but he would not give up his point entirely. Struggling to compose himself, he muttered his next words plaintively, his cheeks burning with shame.

"Its just… you don't understand what he did for us. Not up here, detached from things. You don't know what its like to feel that the world is becoming a better place, and maybe some day we can stop murdering each other…"

"Ichigo…"

He looked up. Yamamoto did not seem angry but… sympathetic?

"Death is not to be feared. Those that do evil while living will receive their just ends when they die. War is terrible, but it keeps the world in balance, and eventually, humans may discover an alternative on their own. But this interference is not natural, and as guardians of the balance, it is our responsibility to correct this. We are detached so that we may judge unhindered by irrational emotions, but do not take us for heartless; we were all human once. You above all should know that."

Ichigo nodded, biting his lower lip, but did not say another word.

"Very good. Let us continue. The Inventor must be identified and killed. It is likely he is one of Aizen's Arrancar who managed to escape the mass purification we performed after the Winter War and settled in the human world to plan his revenge. We must identify him before we can take action to capture or kill him, and furthermore, must authorize such a search as it goes against our usual policy of non interference in human government…"

Yamamoto's voice droned on, preaching regulations and rules to be overcome or signed into temporary submission, but Ichigo had already stopped listening.

The Inventor is an Arrancar… the Inventor is trying to kill us…

"Yamamoto-Taichō, once we have the proper documents in order, how do you expect to uncover the Inventor's identity? It is unknown where he lives or what he looks like, so…"

There went Hitsugaya, asking his sharp questions and trying to sound and act mature. His words too faded into oblivion as Ichigo thought. Yamamoto's reply didn't even register with his stream of consciousness

_Could I have known him? Could he have been one of the many broken-masked Arrancar in Las Noches that I saw when we rounded them up for slaughter? Or could he have escaped early on, and his face is one I never knew? I'm so tired of having my life controlled by nameless, faceless people… its just like with Aizen…_

"He knows we'd find him, and he's mocking us! He knows all about us, and we know nothing of him! Look where he established himself; its Karakura Town, the site of Aizen's attempted take over. Sending the Onmitsukidō in blindly will do..."

Soifon's voice now, loud and abrasive. The waspish female was arguing about something to do with the Onmitsukidō. Probably arguing against sending them in. Why not? It seemed like a good idea to him.

_Then again the Inventor is really clever. He'd probably predict we'd send the Onmitsukidō and kill them all before they could discover who he was. Oh… maybe that's why she doesn't want to send them._

"Yamamoto-sama, think of the repercussions such an investigation would have. Soifon is correct; we must not send the Onmitsukidō, and not because they would merely die meaninglessly. Our opponent is well established, and if he is an Arrancar and as merciless as we suspect, he could seek revenge by killing thousands. We must not make him aware that we are aware of him."

_He could seek revenge by killing thousands…_ Unohana's words did not fade like the others. They were sickeningly clear. Ichigo felt his stomach twist as a terrible thought occurred to him. _I may not have known him, but he knew who I was… and I was in the way. I wasn't bound by Shinigami law at the time, but after I died…_

"You both raise good points. That is not a risk we can afford to take. Placing our lives in jeopardy is one matter, but placing the lives of innocents in danger is another. He knows this, and he'll use it to…"

Yamamoto again; troubled. But he wasn't the only one.

_Orihime! She also died in an accident along with Ishida! Chad… I don't think died, but…_

"Lets just storm the damn place and to hell with the consequences! We aren't gonna get nothin' done sitting on our asses and talking. Show the little bastard we aren't afraid of him and flush 'im out like the rat he is."

That would be Zaraki, whose impatience had finally surmounted his ability to stay quiet. Everyone cast him a disgusted look, to which he responded with a bellicose grin. _Come on_ it seemed to say, _contradict me._

"Did you absorb nothing from the conversation? I swear, you're denser than Kurosaki!" yelled Soifon.

_Hey… that's not fair_ he thought in protest.

"Calm down both of you. This is a meeting, not a war zone. If either of you come to blows, I'll be terribly upset."

Unohana's voice broke through their heated quarrel. Zaraki and Soifon subsided somewhat; dear God that woman was terrifying, getting those two to shut up with one smile and a few mild words.

_If looks could kill…Kill. Oh God, I think the Inventor killed me! That accident was no accident… it was-_

"Murder!" he gasped, and the others turned to look at him.

"What do you mean, Kurosaki?" rumbled Komamura, his inhuman eyes glittering in the dim light of the room. He looked ferocious, but the wolf headed Captain was among the gentler of the Gotei 13, and someone Ichigo trusted not to laugh at him.

"I was murdered. The Inventor… whoever he is, had me killed. I'm sure of it! Orihime and Ishida died too, at a later date so it wouldn't be suspicious. And we all died in auto accidents, which is the most common way to die. No one would think anything of it, least of all ourselves, but… I'm sure now it wasn't a coincidence."

"It could have been," remarked Jūshiro gently, "Like you said, it is a very common way to-"

"Wishful thinking. Kurosaki is correct in saying he was murdered. After all… he was too much of a risk left alive," interjected Mayuri coolly. He looked up from his fingernails, immaculate by this point, and smiled eerily, flashing his gold plated teeth. Ichigo shuddered; even now, the Captain of the Twelfth scared him. He never knew what sinister thoughts lay behind those cold yellow eyes.

"Explain yourself, Kurotsuchi." Yamamoto ordered.

Mayuri sighed.

"I suppose I'll have to lay it out for you all. With Ichigo out of the human realm and safely bound by the bureaucracy of Shinigami law, he could not play at being vigilante hero like he used to. No, this was no accident. It was meticulously planned. If he had the patience to take over the world, he certainly had the connections and patience to arrange for a simple accident. Ishida and Orihime are also obvious; Ishida because he could obliterate his soul completely, thus effectively removing him from the reincarnation cycle, and Orihime because she could reject him out of existence to the same effect. They were too dangerous to let live; any fool could see that. I probably would have done the same."

"That's great Mayuri, but it still doesn't tell us how to get rid of this guy," remarked Hitsugaya sarcastically, and Ichigo found himself agreeing with the icy Captain. It was nice to find support, but the scientist really did creep him out. Especially with that last statement, which was in his opinion totally uncalled for.

"But you see, that's the thing. We all know who's behind this. It's painfully obvious. Of course, I didn't really notice until now, but that's because I find the human world incredibly primitive so I don't generally see any point in paying attention to their petty squabbles. However, when you mentioned Phoenix Corporations it was so clear whom this 'Inventor's' identity was. Flamboyant and narcissistic as ever… it's a wonder the rest of you didn't-"

"Mayuri!"

"Yes Yamamoto-Taichō?"

"If you know, then tell us."

Mayuri blinked, then smiled unpleasantly.

"Forgive me, Soutaichō. I had forgotten… in these past eighty years, it had slipped my mind to mention that one of my intended test subjects had gotten away. Really, it was so inconsequential. I hadn't thought to bring it up, but now I see that-"

"Mayuri!" Yamamoto looked angry now, and his voice was stern. "Who is behind this?"

Mayuri sighed again, sulky at being interrupted.

"Why, Szayel Aporro Grantz of course. You know, the former Octava? It seemed so obvious to me-"

"An Espada! An Espada loose on Earth?"

"Yes, its quite troublesome isn't it? Really hurt my pride when I found out he'd escaped."

"Kurotsuchi, you've endangered all of Soul Society and mankind with your irresponsibility!"

"Well," replied Mayuri with amusement, "I also just saved both by telling you who you're hunting. You have a name, a face, and I daresay a reiatsu to track now."

_Szayel._ Ichigo paled at the name._ Uryuu told me about him, and if he's the Inventor… Oh God… we're in so much trouble. He's absolutely heartless; he'd easily blackmail us with the lives of millions if he learned we were after him…_

"So then, if we know who he is lets kill him already!" proposed Zaraki with a bloodthirsty growl.

"Don't get impatient, Kenpachi. We've still got time; no need to rush," said Shunsui, finally shaking off enough of his intoxication to speak.

"Indeed. We still have all the paperwork we need to fill out to kill him first," Mayuri added dryly.

"That's bullshit." Zaraki replied.

"Those are the rules," countered Yamamoto warningly, "And you would do well to follow them more often Kenpachi. They've been infringed upon enough lately. The paperwork will be delivered to each of your divisions soon, meanwhile, I'll consult with the higher ups and see about getting permission to intercede in human affairs. I'll call you all again to brief you on progress, until then, return to your divisions and carry on as usual. Unless crisis breaks out within the next month, I see no reason to cause alarm in the rest of Soul Society. You are dismissed."

The Captains scattered; most were sobered by the troubling news, a few irritated by the prospect of inaction… and then there was Mayuri, whose mood was inscrutable. Ichigo turned to leave as well, but a word from Yamamoto stopped him.

"Ichigo."

"Yes Yamamoto-sama?"

"You were friends with Ishida."

"I was."

They both looked at each other, the silence as meaningful as anything they could say.

"You fought for his memories back when he died, even though it would have been easier for him to forget. Because of what you did, he cannot-"

"I know," Ichigo cut in.

"Then you also know you have a choice to make. Will you tell him about Szayel?"

Another pause followed, equally weighty as the first, but Ichigo knew from the beginning what his answer would be. Voicing it was another matter.

"How could I?" he finally replied bitterly, "How could I let him learn that monster's a live when he's helpless to do a thing about it and I… the one who made him that way. It would be too cruel."

"Very well Kurosaki, it was your decision to make. Ishida will not be informed of the matter. You may return to whatever work you were called from now."

"Thank you sir."

He bowed and left the room, stepping out into the bright afternoon sun. Soul Society was peaceful; Shinigami made their rounds, walking at a leisurely pace through the Seireitei. A few members of the Fourth Division swept the streets. Not a one of them was aware of the threat that festered below on Earth, which was probably just as well. Ignorance was bliss, a lesson he'd learned all too keenly. Or rather, Ishida had.

_I wonder where he is? What he's doing? How he's living now that he can't carry on the Quincy legacy? If only I hadn't been so selfish, he could have been here. A Shinigami. And he would have been freed from his family's burdensome vendetta._

If only if only, but he could not alter his decision now.

_The Octava may have murdered him, but I killed his future…_

Ichigo stopped, leaning against the wall of one of the many buildings that made up the Seireitei, and allowed himself a moment of private grief. No tears blurred his vision; it wasn't something he could cry about, but all the same the guilt was enough to paralyze him. Forty years, and he'd never been able to forgive himself, only push the matter out of mind for brief snatches of time. Suddenly the prospect of losing himself in paperwork didn't seem so awful, and straightening, he hurried the rest of the distance to his division.

Sitting at his desk, the stack of papers settled in front of him, Ichigo picked up a pen and the first form. Signing his name endlessly had never been so welcome a task, so when the messenger arrived an hour later with a second pile, he only nodded absently at the flighty Shinigami and pulled them towards him in a daze.

* * *

**Author's Comments:**

So here we have the second "speed bump" chapter, introducing Soul Society's role in this fic. Yum. Angst. If Yamamoto is not in character... then too bad. I don't usually write old uber powerful leader-of-a-society-of-dead-people type characters, so my lack of experience is apparent. T_T Ichigo is in character... though not for his age. You'd never expect him to be... 96 now? Or something like that? I guess he just feels younger since everyone around him is much older. Or maybe I just suck at writing old people in general. Gah...

Actually, I expected this chapter to be about half as long as it turned out. I didn't even mean for Ichigo to feature as prominently as he did; he was supposed to make a cameo appearance in the meeting, and it was all supposed to be from Mayuri's point of view. But... as usual, the characters hijacked the fic and I wrote something completely different from what I'd originally intended. It was interesting to write though. PM me if you want any clarifications on any vague-ish allusions I made, and advance apologies for how dramatic I made things. To sum things up, when Ishida died, he lost his Quincy powers and would have lost his memories like any other soul, except Ichigo had the 12th division come up with a way to preserve his and Orihime's memories so they wouldn't forget about him. Needy guy. Of course, this back-fired for obvious reasons, and now he's living with that knowledge. But all of that is completely irrelevant to this fic.

Damn you for stealing valuable screen time Ichigo you emo strawberry you. Dx

Ok, back on topic. Szayel and "Nnoitra" will be back in the next chapter, which is what you people are actually reading this for. :3 If not, then I don't know why the heck you're here. o~o ... meh.

Read and review as always please? ^^; You don't know how much I crave reviews... or some form of human feedback.

**Edit:** Well, I edited in that Ichigo became Captain of the Fifth because the lovely Kin pointed out that I'd forgotten to include that. I meant to, but I guess it slipped my mind. He joined the Fifth because of the three open divisions, it seemed the best fit for him. Their symbol, the Lily of the Valley, signifies sacrifice, danger, and true love. Also, I'm assuming Kubo is going to have him kill Aizen in the end since he's the "hero" and all that jazz, so it would be poetic for him to lead the Aizen's former division. I was too lazy to think up who filled the other spots; use your imaginations for me. xP That's all from me.


	8. Disparities

Hangovers sucked, pure and simple. Drinking was not worth this agony. Succumbing to emotion was overrated. Clinical objectivity and rational analysis were always the better options. He would never make the mistake of throwing a childish tantrum and indulging in self-damaging habits again. He was done with that. Done. Not going there. He was cool, collected, and in control… but damn did his head hurt.

_Why'd I ever let me convince myself that drinking a whole bottle of gin would be a good idea?_ Well to be fair, he hadn't planned on it; it'd just happened. The alcohol had been lying handy at the time and he hadn't been thinking straight, incapacitated by outrage. Two and two had come together and conspired to punish him with **this**_._ _Oh god, I feel like someone's ruptured my eardrums and shoved broken glass into my skull…_

Moaning, he threw a feeble hand over his eyes, blocking out the artificial light that filtered down from the skylight in his ceiling to blind him painfully. _Make that hot glass puncturing my eye sockets and driving straight through to my brain. Or maybe sulfuric acid melting through my corneas… Go away, go away…_ The skylight did not go away, and sluggishly, Szayel forced himself to sit up. He regretted the action immediately.

Stars sprang into his eyes as the world somersaulted forward spinning with kaleidoscopic disunity. The floor jarred him to awareness as he hit it in a dead faint, his cheekbone taking the brunt of the fall. Disoriented, he levered himself off the ground only to double over and vomit a second later as nausea struck. He gasped, mortified at his weakness, and dragged himself out of the stinking pool that had formed the contents of his stomach. The reek was oppressive, and as he stood, it took the utmost self-control not to collapse and vomit again.

Szayel half fell, half staggered his way over to the bathroom, and by the time he reached it, his knees were trembling uncontrollably and threatening to give out under him. The lights clicked on automatically as he entered, causing him to flinch.

"Dim 70%!" he gasped, then added as an afterthought, "Switch to tile lighting."

The overhead lights flickered off, replaced by a soft glow emanating from the tiles underfoot. It was a soothing glow, imitating the natural phosphorescence of cave dwelling plants and deep ocean fish. To his relief, the jagged, throbbing pain that assaulted his mind subsided a little. The smell of bile still clung to his clothes however, and wrinkling his nose at the stench, he peeled them off, shuddering as he smeared some of the foul liquid on his face. Once he'd stripped down to his bare skin, he wadded them into a bundle and tossed them out of the bathroom, closing the door behind them. Pressing a button, he spoke quietly into the intercom he'd installed.

"Verona, come down to my suite and tidy up the mess you'll find near the couch. Also, take my clothes for cleaning. I'll be out in an hour, and I expect to find everything spotless. Have Lumina assist you if you suspect you will not finish in time. That is all."

He released the button, knowing everything would be spotless within twenty minutes anyways and glad that he'd upgraded the two, bumbling fools of Fraccion he'd had in Las Noches to the competent pair that served as his attendants and proxies for himself to the outside world. They were his face, his voice to the public, and the only people he knew he could absolutely trust. After all, he'd made them that way. They were loyal to the point that they'd gladly commit suicide at his command. Fear tactics were outdated anyways; devotion was the subtler, more prestigious mode of control. Besides, they now served different roles. Their work demanded more intelligence, more personality, and human appearances. They were no longer handy food sources; they were his avatars.

The room wasn't cold, but all the same he shivered, conscious of his nakedness. His bathroom was divided into two separate rooms; the bathroom itself, and the washroom. The former was a small room that adjoined the larger chamber, which housed a hot tub and the shower, yet it served as the only entrance to the washroom. If the first room was private, then the second was doubly so, accessible only as it was through a roundabout manner.

He padded gingerly into the adjoining room, and when it was clear his knees would not give out, he walked with more confidence over to the shower, twisting the dial so that the water turned on. Bliss. Hot water cascaded down his back, carrying away with it the haggardness and aches of his drunken evening. Szayel tilted his head so it wet his hair, turning it a rich magenta, and streamed down his face and neck.

He could stand there forever, just feeling the comforting warmth of the water trail its fingers over his skin and breathe the spiraling steam that rose from the floor. He had it all to himself; there was no one here to hide from, no sneaking around in the dark furtively like some criminal. He could shower when he wished and for as long as he wished. It was this fact in the end that prompted him to reach for the shampoo with reluctance and scrub it into his hair. It smelled sweet, like lilacs, and lathered up beautifully. The soap he used was made of goat's milk, a product he favored as it didn't dry or irritate his fair, delicate skin, and as he washed himself with it, the shower steam took on the scent of vanilla and honey.

He rinsed the soap suds from his body and shut off the tap, feeling the water swirl around his feet before gurgling its way down the drain. With it fled his body heat, and he hurried over to the hot tub, pulling open the cover and sliding in gratefully. The temperature was perfect; enough to make his skin prickle deliciously without being so hot that he felt like he was boiling. Szayel smelled cinnamon and smiled, relaxing. He'd designed it to select and release an essential oil complementary to whatever scents he already wore from the shower into the bath water, and the warm scent of cinnamon was a favorite of his. Closing his eyes, he let himself drift.

His migraine had abated, the hangover tamed by the heat that sunk languidly into his body, and for the first time since he'd woken up, he could really think clearly. Safe in his domain and cradled in the warmth of his bath, he perused the events of the day before.

_I was an idiot for reacting that way. I panicked, like any stupid human. What I should have done instead of angsting like some jilted female was come up with a plan to deal with this Takeda Nobu. _

Yes. That sounded right. Encouraged by this start, he continued his musing.

_The reason I was so incompetent was because I was unprepared. His existence took me by surprise and later his actions. He no longer has that advantage so the next time, I will not be nearly so helpless._

There was the root of his problem. Identified, it did not seem so beyond his reach or so distressing.

_Takeda is Nnoitra's reincarnation. They are not the same person, yet I reacted to his advances. This is something that should be explored and explained. What do I know of him? He's smarter than Nnoitra but not smarter than me, and physically, he's weaker. He is poor, young, occupation other than stealing unknown, though I doubt he's without his connections. He seems too well off to work alone. That is speculation, however. Sexual orientation… unknown. I suspect he's bisexual since that's so popular these days and he… ahem… but again, that's only speculation. Other than this, I know very little._

Szayel slid deeper into the water, letting it lap at his chin. The fact he knew so few hard facts bothered him. It meant Takeda could still unbalance him in another confrontation. It also meant he would continue to wonder about him, and that would not do. He wanted to be in control of his own thoughts; this uncertainty did not sit well on his conscience.

_I need to conduct more research. But this time, it will be on my own terms. I'll be the one surprising him. Besides… haven't I been wanting something to do? I'll learn who this Takeda really is and put my past to rest._

There. That was it then. Things were so much simpler when one paused to think them through. Content with his decision, he allowed himself to luxuriate in the cinnamon perfumed bath water, his mind for once completely idle. It felt nice not to think, nice in a way forcibly not thinking could never be. That was foolish. Going against his nature was foolish, and the repercussions painful. _Perhaps that's something I should work on… eliminating hangovers? No. Hangovers are a part of life; an unpleasant reminder not to get stupidly drunk. I deserved this one._

But all the same… the least he could do was develop a decent painkiller. Those humans were really quite inept at it. With a dreamy sigh, he let his mind go blank.

***

Verona had come and gone by the time he'd toweled off and dried his hair. He'd paused to comb it and brush his teeth to rid his mouth of the lingering bitter taste the bile left his tongue before stepping out into his suite. Szayel was pleased to note she'd taken care of the odor as well; the room smelled fresh, with no hint that an hour earlier he'd thrown up on the carpeting. Good. He expected nothing less from her.

Wrapping the towel around his hips, he strode over to his walk-in closet; the one that actually contained clothes rather than housing his portable lab. Again the lights flickered on with his motion, but it was readjusted to his lighting preference while trying on clothing. This light was golden, mimicking how natural sunlight would look around noon in late summer; he'd gotten better at replicating it over the years.

The weather was supposed to be nice that day, so he forwent any sort of coat, selecting instead a formfitting long-sleeved shirt of a thin but sturdy material. It looked deceptively delicate, but it would not tear as easily as it seemed it would. It was turquoise in color with iridescent undertones of peacock green that shimmered in the background when the light hit it just right, though this solid block of color was broken up by the feathery white tracery that wove throughout the shirt. The stitching along the collar, hem, and cuffs was also white, though a violet thread meandered through it, drawing the eye to the amethyst highlight.

Offsetting the exotic shirt were a pair of respectable khaki slacks, though they were shaped around the bottoms so that they did not fall completely straight but tapered in around the ankles, showing off the dainty purple shoes that looked suspiciously like ballet flats. Probably because they were. Absolutely impractical, but he loved how light they felt on his feet.

Szayel scrutinized himself in the mirror that comprised the back wall of his walk-in closet, turning to examine his image at a different angle. Raising one eyebrow, he smiled demurely at his reflection and promptly burst out laughing.

"God I look like such a fairy, except I'm prettier and have better fashion sense than most women too," he remarked to the doppelganger in the mirror. His double smiled back, looking incredibly haughty, and he laughed again, this time a little cruelly.

"Honestly, all I'm missing is the chest and one other key attribute, and even that never stopped anyone from making insinuations before. I've got the face and the skin for it; white as porcelain and just as smooth. Then lets not forget my lack of bodily or facial hair, no I don't shave. Oh! And its color too, not to mention my Resurreccion form looks like a dress. Why, I'm all but chromosomally female I'm just so damn effeminate! I might as well dress in drag and masquerade as a woman."

He frowned, old hurts rising to the surface as he reminisced, but after a minute of staring past his reflection's pinched expression, he pushed them to the back of his mind and smothered them with apathy. They were specters anyhow; remnants of his former colleagues now dead and gone. There was no point in digging up expired memories. His face became defiant as he addressed the mirror.

"I can wear whatever I feel like wearing, Espada be damned! What I have on is not unusual, I just carry it off better than most of my gender. If nature graced me with good looks, then I say flaunt them! The rest of the world can go die from jealousy."

Thus self-assured, he batted his eyes at the mirror mock flirtatiously and flounced off with a superior smirk. Just as he left the closet however, he pulled a sheer pink scarf that matched his hair from a hangar and wrapped it around his neck. The smirk became rueful as even he acknowledged that his impulsive addition could in no way be justified as "manly."

_Hmm… perhaps not, but it ties the color scheme together. It wasn't quite balanced without the scarf._

Szayel grimaced and stopped trying to think up excuses. Everyone had his or her eccentricities. He just liked to dress nicely. And kill people. And take over the world. And… well, ok; he had more eccentric hobbies than most, but he wasn't human either, which kind of set him apart from the beginning. Shaking his head, Szayel strode over to the huge flat screen embedded in the wall above his desk.

"Takeda Nobu. Male, aged twenty five years. Citizen of Japan. Residency, Karakura City. Double majored in pol sci and psychology. ID," he input clearly.

The screen sprang to life, bringing up a page of hits that rapidly narrowed down to two results. The computer zoomed in on the two photographs and it was simple to distinguish his target.

"Top result, expand. Present information on Takeda Nobu," Szayel ordered. The monitor hummed as information flooded the screen and the program began to read off the information in an androgynous voice.

"Takeda Nobu, chip number 9741223987, address…"

He was chipped. This made things so much simpler. Fixing on this all important detail, he listened long enough to determine his current coordinates before halting and saving the search.

_Humans are such ridiculous creatures,_ he thought with disdain, _give me convenience or give me death. Desperate for popularity to the point they'd microchip themselves like animals for the sake of having bragging rights to the latest tech._

Or maybe it was because, as usual, he'd made his chips such an integral part of society that people thought little of them anymore? Certainly they'd been controversial at first, until a year after their release, no hackers had managed to penetrate the system. It had gained tentative acceptance, then enthusiastic approval. To this day it remained unhacked… himself being the exception of course, but no one had to know that.

_No matter. He's chipped… therefore he's mine. So Takeda… how will you respond when I show up at your work?_

Oh yes. This time, things would go differently.

***

Finding him wasn't difficult, not when he was confined to a single building for eight hours of the day. Standing at the entrance to a familiar café, Szayel was struck by a powerful sense of irony. He was in the same district he'd first met Takeda, about to enter the same shop he'd considered a day earlier. It wouldn't have surprised him to learn that Takeda had been returning from his lunch break when they'd passed each other, which meant that they still would have met, though under different circumstances. If he was a superstitious man, he might have called it fate.

But of course, he wasn't. Even dead with "magical" powers, he was a scientist. Destiny was a faded byword used by love struck humans and oily politicians; not fit for his casual vocabulary. Pushing open the door, he stepped into the cool interior of the shop, the tinkle of bells announcing his arrival. It was quaint; such an outdated practice, but fitting for this café. What it lacked in fancy technology it made up for in charm, and this appealed to his romantic side.

"Good afternoon. Do you know what you'd like to order?"

His voice was polite if a little disinterested, and Szayel could see he was occupied with a book behind the counter. Clearly, he wasn't expecting to greet many customers at this hour. Szayel glanced at the clock; it read 2:00 pm. A little late for lunch. Most of the afternoon traffic would have come and gone by now. That was just as well. He had an agenda, and he didn't want to deal with interruptions.

"I'm not sure myself yet. Is there anything you'd recommend in particular today?"

Takeda startled, looking up at the sound of his voice. When he saw who his customer was, he quickly dog eared his page and shut the book, setting it beside the register. Szayel walked over, amused at the reaction his unexpected arrival had caused.

"You! What are you doing here? How do you know where I-"

"Takeda, is that a customer?"

A woman's voice called from the back, interrupting his hissed interrogation and he jumped again, looking nervous.

"Are you visible?" he silently mouthed, and Szayel shook his head, amusement growing.

"No Hiroko-san, it was just a gust of wind. I heard the bells chime as the door opened and called out, so it was my mistake."

"Alright. Just make sure you greet them properly when they come. I know you're spacing off with that damn book again."

"Yes Hiroko-san," he replied, wincing as his employer berated him in front of just such a customer. Szayel smiled wickedly.

"How polite Takeda, using such formal language."

"Look, could you keep your voice down? My boss'll wonder…" he whispered back.

"Ordinary humans can neither see nor hear me. You needn't worry about her, unless you speak up and make yourself look schizophrenic."

His shoulders relaxed visibly, and he shook his head.

"Nah, I'll just claim I'm takin' a call. People do it all the time. But seriously, what are you doing here?"

"I'm here to see you."

Takeda leaned forward over the counter, looking mildly puzzled.

"Why?"

"Because of what happened yesterday."

His puzzled expression morphed into a grin, and he propped his chin up on his fist as he appraised the pink haired man.

"Can't forget about me, huh?"

If a voice could smirk, then his would be flashing a positively superior smile. Szayel leaned in so their faces were inches away from touching, an action that forced Takeda to blink and back off a little. Clearly he wasn't expecting such boldness.

"Don't flatter yourself. I've merely come to assess your personality and determine if my reaction yesterday was the result of a lingering attachment to my former peer or something else. Also, I want a blueberry tart and a tall peach white tea with lemon. On ice."

He blinked again and straightened, reaching automatically for the fridge, then he paused, his eyes flicking over towards the back where in another room his boss worked. Grinding ice would not go unnoticed. He glanced back at Szayel, doubt narrowing his dark eyes.

"Are you serious about the tart and the tea?" he asked.

"Absolutely," Szayel replied.

Takeda sighed, running a hand through his hair as he considered his options with a troubled expression. His eyes brightened when he finally hit upon an idea, and he opened the fridge, pulling out the tea mix and lemon juice, then scooped ice into the blender. As he poured the peach tea flavoring on top followed by water and a drizzle of lemon juice, he called over his shoulder.

"Hey, I'm gonna take my lunch break if ya don't mind."

The woman named Hiroko popped her head around the corner. She looked to be in her early forties, though she had aged gracefully. Her hair was long and black, though streaked with silver, and drawn up in a twist at the nape of her neck. Her nose was smudged with dough, and the front of her black apron was speckled with flour. She had a slender figure, more willowy than full, and though her appearance was domestic, there was a hardness about her bearing that brooked no disrespect. Her brown eyes were piercing, intelligent, and beneath her ready smile lay a warning.

Well, it was little wonder he was so polite to her. Hiroko wiped her hands on a washcloth and strode over to him, looking fierce.

"You haven't been on break yet? Goodness Takeda, I won't have my employees calling me draconian for not giving them their lunch hour! Why didn't you call me out earlier? Its already two!"

"Things got really busy around lunch, so I kind of spaced. Sorry. I'll vouch for you?"

She _hmph_ed, smacking his arm with the washcloth as she drew up a stool and settled herself in front of the register. She was, he realized, a rather petite woman, and seeing her manhandle Takeda- easily a foot and a half taller -with such casual disregard was a sight to behold. Takeda rubbed his arm regretfully and poured the tea off into two glasses, topping each with a lemon slice before capping them and nabbing a couple of straws. The blueberry tart he slid into a small, white pastry box, careful not to break off the flaky crust. She watched him with interest as he removed the black apron that constituted his uniform and hung it up neatly on its hook. When he gathered the tea and boxed tart into his arms, she proffered him a knowing smile.

"Meeting someone?"

He returned her inquiry with a cheeky smile of his own.

"Not really. Just having a chat."

She waved him off, clearly not believing his ambiguous reply.

"Sure kid; whatever you say. The tea and pastry are on the house since you worked through lunch. Don't do it again."

"Thanks Hiroko."

"That's Hiroko-san to you, whelp!"

He dodged her second whack, managing to not drop his cargo as he skipped out of reach and pushed open the door. Szayel quickly swept past him so he would not look strange standing there for no apparent reason, and Takeda let the door bang closed behind them. There was a musical jangle as the bells swung on the other side of the glass. Takeda walked purposefully away from the shop, leading him to a quiet urban park several blocks down the street. It wasn't a family park; the scenery was unmarred by playground equipment, though families did pass through. It was beautifully landscaped with flowering shrubs and trees of different varieties. Most striking were the red maples with their vibrant foliage, a poignant reminder that the summer was fading away.

Takeda settled himself at the foot of a willow and nodded towards the open space beside him. Szayel sat, folding his legs beneath him, and accepted the box and tea he handed him. Hands freer, Takeda took up his own cup and positioned himself more comfortably.

"You've got your food now, and for free even, so… start analyzing or whatever you said you came to do."

Szayel glanced at him pointedly, tapping the lid, and Takeda quickly handed him a straw. He poked it through the plastic and took a meditative sip. For having come from concentrate, it tasted decent. Especially since he hadn't wasted money on it, not that he'd have cared. It was better than the gin in any case, and the lemon added a pleasant zing to the drink.

"I've already begun. Actually, I have been since I walked in the door to your café," he replied quietly.

"Oh? Discover anythin'?" Takeda asked teasingly.

"Yes. You're much less of an asshole at work."

"You try pissing off Hiroko sometime. She may look like a nice old woman, but she's a demon when it comes to manners and good customer service. She has to I guess… to run a successful establishment."

"Hmm… I can relate."

Takeda smiled crookedly.

"Liar. You're the Inventor. Everyone works for you."

"I had a life before I became the Inventor you know. My creator… he was a master at playing appearances. He seemed nice, but underneath the mask, he was more of a monster than any of us. One might call him a God I suppose. He's dead now though. We all lived in fear and awe of him while he was alive, but he kept things running smoothly."

"Your creator?"

"Aizen Sousuke, thought to be fair, he didn't _create_ me per se. He transformed my soul into the form it takes currently and made it so I wouldn't have to fear regression."

"Regression?"

Szayel sipped his tea again, giving him a sidelong look of irritation.

"I hardly think that's any of your business. Besides, I'm supposed to be asking you questions."

"Then try asking. You haven't actually asked me anything yet."

"Oh… I guess you're right. I haven't…" he murmured absently, "Mmm… if you have a job, then why do you steal?"

"The barista and waiting job covers the essentials; mugging allows me to implement my income. Besides, if you see opportunity strollin' down the street so naively, you take advantage of the rich bastard."

"So what would that make me?"

"I'm not sure. I guess the freak who defied my expectations?"

"Never heard _that_ one before…" he muttered, taking a long draught of tea as he stared past the trailing branches of the willow moodily.

"What, freak?"

"Yes. A common adjective used to describe me, especially in conjunction with the preceding title 'pink haired.'"

"Pink haired freak. I kind of like it," Takeda said.

Szayel gave a noncommittal grunt and opened the pastry box, picking up the tart. He took a bite, closing his eyes as he savored the taste. Perhaps the tea was ordinary, but the tart was divine. There was nothing processed about it, just an honest to god blueberry tart. He recalled Hiroko with her dough smudged face and speckled apron; she must have made it by hand.

"You like?"

Szayel nodded and took another bite, not bothering to reply. His mouth was full with the flaky pastry anyhow, and he was too busy sorting through the varied flavors to formulate a proper reply.

"Hiroko makes all the shop's baked goods. She's tried to teach me since I'm a pretty regular employee, but I'm hopeless at that sort of thing. The oven's got a grudge against me, I swear."

Nnoitra's reincarnation trying his hand at baking? The image was so ridiculous he was sorely tempted to giggle. But that would be undignified in his present company and besides, he'd choke on the tart crumbs, and that was not something he wanted to do in public or really ever. So instead, he shook his head in amused disbelief to show that he was listening.

Fingers brushed his hair, capturing a tress, and Szayel opened his eyes in shock as Takeda leaned in to sniff. The back of his neck prickled, and he inhaled sharply at the sudden proximity, nearly choking despite himself.

"You smell good, like honey and lilac and something spicy… cinnamon?" he murmured, his warm breath tickling his ear. Szayel shivered at the agreeable sensation, his body going weak.

"Do you mind?" he asked defensively, but his heart wasn't in it. It was currently fluttering uselessly and betraying his carefully reasoned sensibilities.

"Do you?" he retorted, gently cupping his chin and tilting it back.

Szayel swallowed, momentarily lost for words as he stared into Takeda's eyes. He felt stunned, unable to react. _Just like last time_ he realized with a jolt of fear. Even armed with foreknowledge on this man, he was paralyzed by his touch… Then he found his voice at last and stubbornly fought back against the soporific effect of his presence.

"Yes, I do actually. I mind quite a bit."

Takeda laughed but eased off, releasing his chin in favor of twirling a lock of his hair carelessly between his fingers.

"I'm serious though," he said, "You really do smell good. Not like that musky cologne most guys seem to like or the cheap shit a lot of women spray on themselves. They walk into the face or down the street and the reek is overpowering, but not you. Your scent is light and sweet. Subtle. Its nice."

_Feminine_ was the implied word. He was exercising tact, but Szayel could still hear it in his voice, a void he skirted delicately. His next remark was less so, a return to the blunt personality he was accustomed to.

"But your hair color! Bright pink! Really? Its just so damn flamboyant a shade, it can't possibly be your natural color. You _must_ dye it."

"It's my natural hair color, trust me. It isn't as though I try to attract attention," Szayel replied dryly.

"Which is why you dress like…"

"Like what?"

Takeda grinned suggestively, moving in again.

"Like you're asking to be fucked."

Szayel's heart leapt, thudding unpleasantly against his ribcage.

"What!" he squeaked with alarm, edging away, but his back was to the tree and Takeda so _very_ close. His breathing quickened as he released his hair, trailing his hand down the side of his cheek and then the front of his shirt. The material was so thin and close fitting; it was as if there was nothing separating his fingers from his bare skin. His snaky smile broadened as he wrapped a hand around the pink scarf and pulled him forwards.

_Oh shit. I'm in trouble… move damn it! Move Szayel!_

He could not move; his eyes held him motionless and sapped him of his will, like being caught in a serpent's gaze, and he the bird. He whimpered softly.

"If you don't want to give out the wrong signals, you shouldn't dress so provocatively. You'd make straighter men than me doubt their sexuality. Especially when you act so helpless… it's irresistible."

Szayel closed his eyes as Takeda straddled his hips, pinning him against the willow. His free hand traced down his spine to rest at his lower back while with the other, he reeled him in slowly and teasingly by the scarf. This close, Szayel could smell Takeda's own, personal scent; almonds and coffee, with a touch of chai. The café clung to him even after he'd left it. Dimly, as his breath brushed his lips, he wondered if he'd feel revulsion or-

Takeda stopped. His body went taught as he froze, then he sat back. Szayel opened his eyes, wondering what could have caused his sudden, tense silence. Takeda noticed, his eyes flicking from whatever specter he was staring at intently to Szayel, then back again. He stood abruptly, pacing away from him so that his back was turned to him.

"Yeah," he said, his voice switching to a smoother tone, "Its all taken care of. I contacted them earlier this week."

Takeda paused, listening, and Szayel realized what was happening. He was taking a call. An important one, to stop in the middle of… er, to stop without a second thought. And from the look on his face when he'd received it, he didn't want Szayel to know who it was from.

"No, he won't be a problem. I got him to cooperate. Look… could you call me back after closing time? I'm with a customer right now. Yes. Understood. We'll talk later."

_Click_ Szayel thought. The imaginary sound of a phone call terminating. Takeda's shoulders relaxed and he turned around, bestowing a charming smile on him.

"Sorry 'bout that. I had to take a call."

_From who?_ Szayel wondered, setting his tea and tart aside and straightening. Takeda followed his movements wistfully as he stood up and brushed the crumbs from his lap.

"Shitty timing though. Ruined the mood."

_Perfect timing._

"Indeed," Szayel murmured wryly, fixing his scarf. Takeda grinned and returned to his original spot, spreading his legs nonchalantly in front of him and taking up way more room than was strictly necessary. His eyes invited Szayel to sit down again, and after a moment's hesitation, he did. It was too awkward to stand there by himself. Noting his discomfort, Takeda did not make any further advances. As he'd said, the mood was ruined. Instead, he engaged him in light conversation.

"You got a comChip?"

"Yes," he replied curtly, knowing where this was going.

"Send me your number?" Takeda said, managing to turn the demand into a request with a smile and inflection.

"No."

His expression darkened, and Szayel grinned internally before amending his reply; he had to admit, he'd hoped to provoke just that reaction.

"That is to say, I _can't_ send you my number. I chipped my material body; my gigai as I call it, and as you know, I'm not wearing it right now."

Takeda's expression lightened again, and he had the grace to look sheepish.

"Oh, right. Well, I don't suppose you could, uh, 'wear' your gigai next time? Its pretty fucking awkward to interact with you when no one else can see you."

"You assume there will be a next time," was Szayel's catty reply.

Takeda rolled his eyes.

"God, you're an uptight bitch. Don't forget you came looking for me first. I don't think it's too much of a stretch to make assumptions."

Szayel picked up his tea again and focused on the ice swirling in the amber liquid. It was an inconvenient truth he spouted, and one he didn't really have the answer to, so instead, he posed a question he know he wouldn't answer.

"Who called you?"

Takeda immediately shut down. The smile remained stationary on his lips, but it was superficial. His eyes were cold, his good humor gone.

"Just an associate," he replied lightly, but his words were evasive and he seemed disturbed.

"I see," remarked Szayel with affected disinterest, as if the matter had already fled his mind. He took up the blueberry tart again and finished it off while they sat there in mutual silence. It was not companionable, but it wasn't hostile either. They'd come to an impasse of sorts. It was Takeda who broke the quiet with a question. From his musing tone, Szayel could discern the edgy tension between them had passed, even if the topic was bold.

"You called me Nnoitra after I kissed you. Was that my past self's name?"

Szayel set the empty pastry box aside and sighed, picking up the tea to take a thoughtful sip.

"Yes," he finally answered softly, "That was his name; Nnoitra Jiruga. It's a Western name like mine, so Nnoitra was his given name."

"You're so careful to make the distinction between us. His. He."

"You make the distinction as well. Do you not consider yourself separate from your previous incarnation?"

Takeda contemplated this for a minute, then shook his head and grinned ruefully.

"How would I know? I've got nothin' ta reference, but I'll assume I'm similar enough to keep you interested. So? Aren't you supposed to be determining that right now?"

"Hnn…" Szayel replied vaguely, and his response prompted a curious look from Takeda. "Well… you look almost exactly like him, and there are certainly many… shared aspects of your personality."

"Like?"

"You're both good at pissing me off. Stop prying!"

"That's what I figured," Takeda said, then stood up, offering Szayel a hand. He ignored the gesture, rising by himself, and Takeda shrugged.

"Whatever. I've gotta head back to work; my lunch break is almost over. Feel free to follow me or do what you want, but don't talk to me for obvious reasons, and please don't order anything else. I can't explain that one away to my boss twice."

"So considerate," he muttered sarcastically as he tailed Takeda back to the shop. When they reached the café entrance, he motioned for Szayel to stop, turning to face him.

"You coming in?"

"I'm not finished with my task."

He frowned, looking uncertain. Szayel hazarded a guess that he was thinking about the phone call he had scheduled after work.

"You won't notice me; I'll fade into the background. Don't worry. At some point, you'll look up and I'll be gone."

Takeda glanced pointedly at his purple shoes, his eyes drifting slowly up his body and lingering longest on his shirt before returning to his eyes.

"Somehow I doubt that," he said with a faint smile, and opened the door. Szayel surrounded his tea with invisibility and walked in after him. At the register, Hiroko stirred, rubbing her eyes; she'd been sleeping. Takeda knew better than to point this out as he stepped behind the counter and donned his work apron.

"How'd your 'chat' go, brat?" she asked as she surrendered the stool to him.

"Fine. He liked your tart."

"_He?_ You bad boy! Stringing both teams along! Must be a decent sort if he appreciates my quality baking though. So, did you two do anything I shouldn't know about?" Hiroko remarked with a saucy grin.

"Nah aunty. Our chat was interrupted by a call."

Her face grew serious as she absorbed this news.

"Oh. Well that's a shame. They should know better than to call you in the middle of work. Was it Ogawa? Put him on the line next time and I'll chew his ass out for bothering you while you're under _my_ jurisdiction."

"Of course Hiroko-san. I'm sure they wouldn't dare after you're through with 'em."

"They'd better not," she growled as she swept back into the kitchen. Just before she disappeared around the corner, she paused and sent him a coy smile.

"And be sure to bring your friend by next time so I can get a proper look at him."

"Sure, if I can convince him to come. He's a bit of a hermit."

"We'll fix that," she assured him with a wink, then deciding she'd expended her quota of friendliness for the day, she barked over her shoulder, "Get back to work! Even if you don't have any customers, the shelves need reorganizing. If I come out and you're reading that book, there will be consequences! I don't pay your lazy ass to slack off."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Hiroko-san," he called innocently, then under his breath muttered, "Old hag…"

Szayel, listening to their conversation, choked quietly on his tea and hid his flaming cheeks behind a curtain of hair. It was certainly a change of pace from his monotonous schedule of meetings and boredom. Occasionally he'd stir himself to begin a new experiment, but with little environmental stimulus to do so, he most often languished in his lavish suite. But haunting Takeda was unpredictable. For one, his light treatment of their relationship was unsettling for him. His replies, vague and confident, made it sound as if they'd known each other for a while. Chat replaced the word date, but somehow managed to be more intimate. A date implied structure, where as a chat was casual, less formal, and the way those two used the word…

"_Our chat was interrupted by a call."_ Neither of them meant speaking the way they'd been smiling. Oh, he'd definitely use his gigai if he ever visited Takeda again. That way at least he wouldn't suffer others talking about him in silence. Seating himself in a corner table, he sat and watched. Around 3:30 pm, the first stream of customers began trickling in.

It was college students at first, free from classes, with a healthy mix of high school and even middle school students as well. At one point, he had to surrender his seat to a group of girls who tittered over boys and fashion and who dated whom. Even the man behind the counter received consideration.

"He's cute!" one affirmed as she stared his way dreamily.

"No way! He's got a creepy smile," exclaimed another, shaking her head. The first girl stuck her tongue out at her friend and giggled.

"But he's like, so tall! And polite… And he looks _hot_ in an apron."

Takeda chose that moment to walk over with their drinks; this busy, Hiroko manned the register, leaving him to act as waiter. He smiled at Szayel who stood behind his critic and set the drinks down before each of the girls. With a half bow, he said, "Hope you're enjoying yourselves, ladies. I'll be right back with the crème brulee."

The argumentative girl seemed stunned as he walked off, and her friends quickly pounced on her.

"Ohmigosh Miyuki, I think he likes you! He totally just smiled at you!"

She recovered from her dazed state, pursing her lips stubbornly, but Szayel could tell she was secretly flattered.

"Well, I guess he's not _that_ bad. But he's not hot."

She still blushed when Takeda delivered the deserts, and Szayel was certain he placed her order down with extra consideration. He'd even garnished the top with a sprig of mint and a sprinkling of cinnamon. Flirtatious bastard; he'd definitely overheard their conversation. They departed, engaged in a heated debate and giggling over the charming waiter.

Szayel observed many other encounters from his vantage point in the corner, not all quite as sweet. At one point, an argument broke out between two patrons, and Takeda stepped in before it could become physical, hauling the two men up by their shirt fronts while he advised them in a dangerously calm tone to take their conflict elsewhere before he gave them reason to. Lanky as he was, there was a wiry strength in his limbs and an air about him that brooked no defiance, and they slunk away from the establishment, muttering empty threats.

Around 4:30 pm, older patrons began drifting in after work. Takeda's progress became frenetic and he stopped glancing over in his direction, distracted as he was by his job. Perhaps the most curious event he witnessed was when an older woman, in her early fifties by the look of it, broke down at one of the tables. What caused her grief, he did not know. Perhaps it was marital strife? Perhaps she'd been laid off from her work? Perhaps she was going through a midlife crisis? It could have been any number of things, and it did not really matter what her emotional anguish stemmed from, for her shoulders heaved with quiet sobs as she sat at her solitary table while all around milled an indifferent crowd.

She looked so forlorn, stranded in a little isle of sorrow; such a typical example of the flip side of success. For every happy man or woman, there would be an equally miserable counterpart; fortune was not distributed evenly. It was a sight that stirred little sympathy in the scientist.

Then Takeda was there with a slice of bittersweet chocolate torte and a mug of spiced cocoa. She looked up at him in surprise, startled from her crying. Her eyes were still wet as she picked up the cocoa.

"I didn't order this," she said dumbly, and his lips quirked up into a smile.

"I know," he said, then returned to serving the rest of the customers. She stared after him disoriented, taking a sip of the unexpected gift. Her face brightened as the flavor hit her tongue. Szayel watched her depart later that evening with a smile on his face, knowing it wasn't the endorphins in the chocolate that were responsible for her change in mood.

He was different; that was clear to him now. Takeda Nobu was not the same person as Nnoitra Jiruga; his attachment was an old one. A dead one. These ghostly afterimages of passion were nothing more than fragments of a past life, one he'd left behind.

_So that's it then…_he thought to himself with chagrin as he stood and disposed of his now empty tea glass. Takeda was still busy attending to his other patrons, having completely forgotten about his invisible guest. Reaching into his pocket, his fingers found a slip left there from some previous unknown time. At the front, there was a cupful of pens, and he picked one of these up, scrawling out a series of numbers on the paper slip. When he was done, he slid it under the cover of Takeda's book, returned the pen to its holder, and walked out of the shop, unnoticed. He had a lot to think about.

***

Around six, Takeda began to close the shop. His last two customers, a couple, were leaving. They leaned into each other for comfort as they walked out the door, and the bells chimed a cheerful goodbye. He followed them with his eyes as they left, then remembered his other guest, glancing around for the pink haired man. He was nowhere to be seen; his quiet corner was empty. Just as he'd promised, he'd disappeared, and Takeda had never noticed.

"He really wasn't kidding," he said, mildly bewildered that he could have missed him.

"Did you say something Takeda?" Hiroko called.

"No. Nothing," he replied quietly, and resumed collecting the scattered, abandoned dishes.

* * *

**Author's Comments:**

Now you guys get to see me for what I really am; a sucker for unnecessary description. When I really get into something, it increases in length exponentially because I describe _everything_. Hopefully you don't mind too much.

Is Nnoitra OOC? Well... not precisely. He isn't Nnoitra; he's his reincarnation, so there are bound to be differences. But just you wait... this is the last chapter he is called Takeda, so we can get that oddness out of the way. And no, I'm not going to turn him into a big, mushy softy. That would be wrong and twisted in so many ways.

I personally like this chapter because I get to explore "Nnoitra" and Szayel's personalities. As you can see, Szayel has calmed down a little with time; he isn't quite so high strung. Then again, rethinking your philosophy after nearly getting killed by another mad scientist will do that to you. I'm not going to turn him into a pining bleeding heart either though. It also let me tease them, which is always a plus. Yum. More fangirliness is on the way with the next chapter.

Read and review as always. Really. I can't stress this enough. If you like it even slightly, I'd love to hear from you, critiques included. ^^ Ta for now. Just wait... I'll find a reason to edit this chapter or these comments. T_T

Edit: Oh yes, I remembered something. v.v The microchip/comChips which were alluded to in this chapter will be further explained/explored in the next chapter, so if you are confused, then I don't blame you. You can either wait, or ask me through PM if you really want to know the details.


	9. Taste

**Author's disclaimer**:

Alright... I deem this chapter sufficiently twisted to warrant a disclaimer. If you're of a rather sensitive disposition, then I suggest you don't read ahead. Things get a little disturbing shall we say... ahm... I'm gonna shut up now. This is rated M anyways...

* * *

_I'm surrounded by morons who think they know what they're talking about but really don't know a thing. They're just pretending to sound constructive so they can use each other and get paid for it._

Szayel mused over steepled fingers as fragments of conversation whirled incomprehensibly around him. He loathed these weekly meetings. They were so devoid of any genuine significance, they made him ill. All they served for were reminders that he'd long ago extracted any real merit from Phoenix Corporations, and it was overdue for annihilation.

_I've half a mind to fire them all and scramble for shelter like chickens with their heads cut off. Then again, these sycophants are even more brainless than chickens… they'd probably act like cockroaches, functioning just fine without heads. They'd only go find the next true genius to glom on to parasitically. _He smirked ironically as just one such a simpering insect addressed him.

"Sir, interest in our newest product hasn't peaked yet. We're concerned that selling to such a limited audience with advertisement by ear and invitation only will prove more costly than profitable."

From the sound of his voice, he was young for an executive officer. Perhaps in his early thirties or late twenties. His projected profile was a neutral black like that of the others gathered, but behind this anonymous front, his voice was strong and confident. Irritatingly so. Szayel took an instant dislike to him.

"Perhaps, but this is not a product we are mass producing. It would always be more costly. This is not targeted towards the public but the elite, and for them, price is not a problem. Your fears are unfounded; this project will not undermine our stock or profits," he replied coolly.

"It's a break from tradition. We do not know how this may affect our image with our consumers," voiced another. This man had a bulkier silhouette, and he spoke in gravelly tones. He probably indulged a drinking and smoking habit in addition to his pompous attitude.

_You idiot. Just listen to yourself,_ he thought with a disgusted sneer. He kept this disgust out of his tone though, ever the professional.

"Phoenix Corporations is well noted for its breaks from tradition. I hardly think _secretly_ marketing a product to world leaders and the wealthy will cause much of a stir," he remarked. Alright, so he treated himself to a bit of sarcasm every now and then, but really… these people asked to be slapped and shaken, and his patience with them wore dangerously thin. Only a martyr or a saint could deal with them unperturbed.

_They're enough to make anyone homicidal. Why do I sully my hands with such filth?_

"Sir…"

_Sir this, sir that. So obnoxiously polite even while they hide their disgust for me behind false gestures and words. They want my power, not my approval; they think they're controlling me._

He said something in reply, not really paying attention to or caring about what he said. They didn't care either. It was all empty. Empty words. Politics. It seemed to satisfy them for the moment, and he turned his focus inwards.

_I don't want to be here… listening to them worry the same old bone that they've been at for years like dogs. Different words, same story. Nothing ever changes. I could leave right now, and they'd go on the same way they have been._

Szayel desperately longed to leave, but could find no excuse to. There was nothing else he was doing with his day. His mood soured as he contemplated the events that had transpired a week and a half earlier when he'd met Nnoitra's human reincarnation. Even if he'd made him feel absolutely helpless, it had been a break in the monotony his typical schedule offered him.

_Damn… I think I'd be desperate enough to put up with him for an hour if it meant ditching these fools. I must be going insane._ Still, he wondered what the lanky human was up to. Probably shacking up with some naïve unfortunate; it seemed the sort of thin he'd do. Either that, or taking some clandestine phone call with illicit undercurrents.

"-and we should aim for the younger generation with this application. It has real potential among the young adult and teen population."

Szayel blinked as he caught the tail end of another suggestion directed towards him. Thinking back, he reconstructed the full comment from the words he'd registered only hazily, but before he could formulate a convincingly interested reply, his comChip beeped. He had an incoming phone call from a number he did not immediately recognize. Composing himself, he addressed his gathering politely and neutrally, even while his curiosity was piqued and his attention claimed by the strange call.

"You'll have to excuse me, but I have urgent business to attend to which has jus been called to my attention. A transcript of the issues that need addressing may be forwarded to either of my personal assistants Lumina and Verona. Rest assured that I will review them and get back to each of you when I have time. Until then, I withdraw myself from discussion. Good day, gentlemen."

With a sigh of relief, he disconnected from the rest, rubbing his temple wearily as the projected image of a meeting faded from his vision. The immersion was incredible; sitting at his computer desk, he'd felt as though he were really there in a distant office talking face to face with his executives. _Perhaps even a little too real_, he thought with chagrin, but he couldn't fault his brilliant invention, and really… it was brilliant. His comChips didn't even need batteries or replacement; they used electricity in the brain to keep themselves charged, which had the added benefit of burning more calories. Beautifully simple; a scientific marvel.

The comChip beeped again, drawing his attention back to the call, and with a thought, he connected to it.

"Hello?" he said.

"Heya, pink haired freak," came the cheerful reply as Takeda's profile materialized before him, "You busy?"

Szayel twisted a pink lock around his finger, knowing that he showed up to him as a dark shadow. He still wore the identity censor from the meeting.

"Nothing important," he finally replied.

"Good," Takeda said with a grin, "I'm takin' you somewhere today."

"Aren't you supposed to ask when you invite someone out?"

"You'll come," was the cheeky reply.

Oh. Wasn't _he_ just brimming with confidence? If Szayel wasn't so bored, he'd have said, "No I won't," and hung up. But of course, he was right; Szayel would come, regardless of his impudence. Frustrated by this, he phrased his next question a little more sulkily than he liked.

"What's the weather like?"

"Absolute shit. It's raining and supposed to keep raining all day."

"…and yet you choose today?"

"It's my day off. Meet me at the train station in an hour, 'kay?"

"And if I decide not to come?"

"You woulda hung up on me way earlier if you weren't comin'. Ta, love."

The call cut off and Takeda disappeared, his lascivious grin lingering where he'd stood just a moment before. Szayel stared at the empty spot, irritation returning as two red dots glowing on his cheekbones.

"Well how convenient for you!" he complained, but went to prepare himself anyways. As much as he hated to go along with Takeda, he still planned on going. Stalking over to his walk in closet, he muttered obscenities under his breath as he selected an outfit.

***

Forty five minutes later, he found himself walking towards the train station. He'd dressed for the rain, bundled up in a light tan overcoat with generous cuffs and a fur-lined hood that settled over his shoulders softly. The white of the synthetic rabbit fur- and while it was synthetic, it was impossible to really tell since he'd designed it as such- stood in contrast to his bright hair, emphasizing its color more than usual. The coat itself hugged his waist, flaring out around his legs and opening in the front to show off the white hakama and the black boots he wore; a nod to his old uniform. The coat's hems and waist were lined in blue and white, adding variation to the solid tan and making it appear crisper and more fitted.

From under the coat peeked a navy blue turtleneck, the collar just visible beneath the scarlet scarf wrapped around his throat. His gloved hands held the bamboo handle of a fuchsia parasol which he spun occasionally, showering other passersby with the raindrops that dripped down its waterproof surface. Though it appeared to be made out of paper like the traditional variety, it was made of an impermeable material, making it both aesthetically pleasing and practical. Much nicer than an umbrella in any case.

Drawing up to the station, he noticed with some surprise that Takeda was already there. Apparently Takeda wasn't expecting him just yet either, for he looked momentarily taken aback by his arrival.

"Didn't think you'd get here fifteen minutes early. Can't wait to see me that badly Szayel?"

He shifted his grip on the parasol, bringing it down and folding it into a closed position; under the station roof, he didn't need to keep it open. He tapped it against the ground to shake off some of the excess water, then strode over to Takeda, who stood casually with his hands in his pockets next to the terminal. Szayel could feel foreign eyes tracking his progress, and it unnerved him a little. He wasn't used to being visible.

"No. I like to be punctual, and I'd actually hoped to arrive before you," he returned evenly, drawing up alongside the taller man.

"Whatever you say," remarked Takeda with amusement.

"Hnn…" intoned Szayel moodily. Takeda gave the scientist a wicked look, then bent and kissed him on the cheek, pulling him into his arms. Szayel jumped, looking up with distress into his grinning face.

"What was that for Takeda?!" he demanded, flustered.

"Call me Nnoitra, and I was only giving you a proper hello in the European style," he said with a wink.

"Call you N-"

Szayel choked over the name. This did not bode well. He was playing the past relationship card, which meant he was after something. _European hello my ass. You're just looking for a reason to touch me you slimy bastard._

"Anyways, what is up with your clothes? Fuck, I can't tell if you're male or female. I can see now why you wear such tight clothing; anything else leaves it up to the imagination," he said, hands feeling up his chest. Szayel freed himself from his embrace, levering the parasol between them so that its tip rested against his collar.

"Don't make me tranquilize you, trash!" he threatened coldly, and the taller man's grin widened.

"Ah. I was wondering about the parasol," he said, but backed off, raising his palms in a show of surrender. Szayel sniffed haughtily.

"I don't see why. It is raining after all."

"Exactly. Parasols are used when its _sunny_. By women."

Szayel scowled, his finger reaching for the trigger, and Takeda relented.

"Fine! It's normal!" he said, looking amused, "Happy now?"

"No," Szayel growled, withdrawing his weapon, "I know you're still thinking its flashy."

"Well shit, it is!" he protested.

Szayel breathed out heavily, fighting the urge to tranq him and call the whole thing off. He was already drawing quite a bit of attention as the other commuters tuned in to the "lover's quarrel." Fortunately, the train showed up at that moment and they boarded it; Szayel tense, Takeda– or should he call him Nnoitra now? –in good spirits. As the bullet train pulled out of the terminal, he turned and asked… Nnoitra… their destination.

"So where are we going?"

The reply was not comforting.

"You'll see when we get there. You're jumpy as hell, so I'll show ya when we arrive."

Ha ha… _Not good. Where could we be going that he doesn't want me knowing until we're there?_

"Lovely," he breathed faintly, and contented himself with staring out the window as the world flashed by in a blur of gray. Rain streaked the windows at a nearly horizontal slant; they were traveling so fast. By the time they reached the mountains, his sense of foreboding had increased exponentially, so when the train pulled into a well-known terminal and Take- Nnoitra indicated they should get off, his breathing sped up.

"This is our stop," Nnoitra announced gaily, tugging him into the current that exited the vehicle.

"You're joking," he said, paling, but knowing he wasn't. Nnoitra shook his head.

"Nope. You're always so uptight you could do with some relaxation."

"And how is this supposed to relax me? You fucking bastard!"

"Language, Szayel; we're in public."

"The hell I'll calm down!"

Nnoitra laughed and clamped a hand over his mouth, pulling him up the steps that led to the famous attraction. One he'd actually helped design. Why did his inventions always come back and bite him in the-

"Shh," murmured Nnoitra, "You're makin' yourself look bad."

_He's got a point. I'm acting so immature, and all over a- All over a-_

Nnoitra released him and he stilled, gathering up the shreds of dignity left to him. But damn if this man knew how to get under his skin. Bringing him of all places on their second… ah, outing to-

"Welcome to Shima Hot Springs. Will it be just you two today?"

Nnoitra leaned in to greet the young woman who admitted customers, dripping affability.

"Yup. My friend will be paying today."

Szayel nearly cast him a dirty look but at the last second, composed himself and withdrew his card, sliding it through the scanner. The girl looked mystified as she subtracted the proper credit, glancing up at him with curiosity when she'd finished.

"I've never seen a card like that before, but everything checks out so you two should be fine to go. Enjoy yourselves. The men's showers are that way, and the women's are on the right," she said brightly.

"Actually I'm… male," he murmured, and the girl blushed, mortified at her error.

"Oh! I'm so sorry sir! Its just that… well, you two look so cute together I thought…"

"That's ok. We get that a lot," remarked Nnoitra, tugging him towards the left. The girl apologized again as they walked off, staring after them with wide eyes.

"You're such a pimp," Szayel finally muttered through gritted teeth as they entered the men's shower complex. It was substantially sized, built to accommodate the flood that passed through its walls during peak season. At the moment, the traffic was less than a trickle; it seemed rainy September days weren't very appealing.

"And you're loaded, so it all works out. Come on, this didn't even put a dent in your paycheck. It would have devastated mine."

"That's not the point. The point is, you're the one who invited me so you should be paying."

"God you're so traditional. Loosen up, Szay," Nnoitra replied as he steered him to a locker, "Now hurry up and undress so we can shower and go find a hot spring. This should be about your size, right?"

Szayel dug his heels in stubbornly and yanked his arm out of Nnoitra's grip, pushing him away.

"Yes this locker contains a robe my size, but I'm not going to strip and shower in front of you. Go find your own locker, ok?" he remarked icily.

Nnoitra considered the bristling, pink haired man before him for a good minute before shrugging nonchalantly.

"Sure. Why not? If it'll get you to relax. Meet me by the exit when you finish."

Szayel exhaled as the taller man turned and left, finding a locker that housed a towel, robe, and set of clogs his size. Their size difference was so great, he had little fear they'd encounter each other in the showers; each locker area had a shower set of its own.

As he stripped off his many layers of clothing and gathered the clean supplies provided, he felt extremely exposed. Minus the times he'd showered alone, Szayel was always completely covered up. The shower he took was spartan, and he hurriedly wrapped the towel around his narrow hips and pulled the robe on over his body before slipping on the clogs and hurrying for the exit. The shoes adjusted to fit his soles as he walked, lessening the initial discomfort of wearing shoes several sizes too big for him.

Nnoitra waited at the door, already finished. He must have jumped in and out of the shower to beat him here, for Szayel hadn't tarried in the open. Or maybe his shower had been located closer to the exit? Whatever the case, Szayel had the unfortunate privilege of feeling himself appraised from a distance as he approached for the second time that day.

"Again, you're earlier than I expected," remarked Nnoitra as he slid open the door to the outside. Szayel crossed his arms as a wave of cold air brushed across his skin, raising bumps. He wasn't used to wearing so little. Nnoitra noticed and commented on it as they walked.

"Cold?"

"It's raining and I'm half naked. Of course I'm cold," the scientist replied, more than a little cattily.

"Lighten up. The view's actually really nice if you look around."

"Are you trying to imply something?"

"Only if you take it that way, Szay."

Szayel winced; he'd walked into that one, but… Nnoitra didn't seem intent on making lewd remarks just yet. Raising his head, he looked around.

Nnoitra was right; the place was gorgeous. The path they walked on was smooth river stone of varying shads of blue-gray. Some were even black or white, and these stood out uniquely against the others. It meandered lazily through picturesque surroundings, a graceful river of rock. Occasionally, smaller streams would break off from the main thoroughfare, leading down twisting paths out of sight to private springs, their presence only marked by columns of gently wafting steam.

The mountains towering just beyond made for a dramatic backdrop. Clouds wreathed their peaks and softened the austere image of the imposing giants. The same rain that hazed the higher elevations misted gently over the hot springs, giving them an ethereal quality, especially where it gathered in thick blankets around the branches of mountain pine and bamboo thickets planted throughout.

It was not so bad… the rain. Actually, it was very beautiful. In Las Noches, water had always been such a scarcity, and even after he'd relocated to Earth, he hadn't spent much time outdoors, much less in the rain. Szayel tilted his face to the sky, letting the raindrops tickle his eyelids for a moment while Nnoitra stopped and stood beside him, watching. The scientist allowed himself a moment of indulgence, sticking his tongue out to catch one of the falling water droplets.

"You're sorta like a little kid when you do that," he observed.

Szayel ignored him, relishing the cool feel of the rain on his face for a moment longer before he opened his eyes and resumed walking.

"Like… you don't mind the rain. That's pretty rare in adults." Nnoitra continued.

"You don't mind it either," he pointed out.

Nnoitra grinned sheepishly.

"I'm childish in many ways."

"Hmm."

Szayel trailed his fingers over a pine branch weighed down with water, and a deluge of silver drops cascaded over his head, sending a wave of icy water running down his neck. Nnoitra glanced at him with interest.

"Keep that up and you'll be so numb you won't even feel the hot water."

"Humor me."

"I am, otherwise I'd pick you up and carry you the rest of the way. Keep you out of trouble."

Szayel frowned slightly, but didn't rise to his bait. He was joking and trying to get a reaction out of him; he wouldn't play so willingly into his hands. Nnoitra grinned but didn't press, and they settled into a comfortable pace, walking in silence for a good ten minutes. At last, Nnoitra seemed to find the path he was looking for, for he took a turn down a serpentine path that meandered through an especially dense bamboo thicket. The river rock gave way to gravel, which crunched loudly beneath their sandaled feet, and they continued on this trail for an indeterminate length of time until the forest of bamboo gave way to reveal a secluded hot spring.

No one else was there. He doubted many of the few who would be willing to come to Shima Hot Springs on a rainy day would have the patience to walk so far to reach this one particular spring. Equally doubtful was the prospect they'd be joined by anyone else later, for the same reasons. If it was seclusion patrons looked for, all the springs were secluded. Just… not all were this _isolated._ Szayel felt a tremor of apprehension in the pit of his stomach.

Nnoitra walked past him without hesitation and peeled off his robe, casting it aside. The sudden sight of his nakedness brought Szayel back to the present, and he averted his gaze, knowing what he'd have to do in a moment. Nnoitra slid into the water, then turned around to face Szayel. He seemed amused by his reaction, and his narrow eyes dared him to join him in the water.

"Come on Szayel; don't want to catch hypothermia. Now's not the time to be modest."

Szayel rubbed his forehead and grit his teeth, regretting not for the first time having come. _But he's seen you naked before in Las Noches. Get a grip Szayel; its nothing to get worked up over._ Well, _he_ hadn't seen him per se… _Big deal. There's no point in stopping now. He'd probably just drag you in bodily anyways._ With a sigh of supreme exasperation, Szayel undid the robe and pulled it off. His hands hesitated over the towel tied around his waist, but that too he discarded, wrapping the robe around it so it would stay dry. He avoided meeting Nnoitra's eyes as he slipped into the hot spring and wrapped his arms around himself as the water made him conscious of his bareness. He was thankful for the steam at least, which somewhat obscured things.

"Dang you're skinny," remarked Nnoitra.

Szayel dared a peek his way. The taller man watched him with an inscrutable look, and he squirmed internally under his gaze.

"And pale."

A twinge of irritation flashed in his chest, and he turned up his nose disdainfully.

"I would be, spending most of my time indoors. If you hadn't noticed, I'm not exactly the epitome of athleticism or sociability."

Nnoitra chuckled.

"You really are too uptight. Come over here."

"Why?" he asked, suddenly wary.

"Just do it," Nnoitra replied, crooking a finger at him.

"No."

"You scared?"

"No!"

Nnoitra shook his head, laughing silently.

"Fine then. I'll go."

He waded over to him with a naughty smile, and Szayel watched him approach with rising hostility until he stood about a foot away from him.

"Turn around," he ordered lightly.

Szayel glowered. Nnoitra smiled, then grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around. He stiffened at his touch, already opening his mouth to protest when Nnoitra cut him off.

"Calm your ass down, would ya? Fuck, you're twitchy."

Szayel bit his lip as Nnoitra kneaded his shoulders, and a flicker of comprehension dawned in his mind, just long enough to be forced out by a sudden twinge of pain. He slapped at the hands on his back and twisted out of his grip, looking exasperated as he placed his hands defiantly on his hips and bestowed a baleful glare on the black haired man.

"Yes, I'm twitchy. I have good cause to be. But if you're trying to put me at ease with a massage, then at least learn how. That was terrible!"

Nnoitra returned his indignant look with a stubborn one of his own. He wasn't happy, being insulted. _Too damn bad for him._

"Oh really? And I don't suppose you can do any better?" he said sardonically.

"Yes. Yes I can as a matter of fact," Szayel snapped resentfully, then flushed. He'd walked into that one too. Nnoitra's eyes brightened at the prospect of this new game.

"Show me, if you really can. Prove it." he said, and smiled.

Oh. _Damn_ him. And damn the pride that would not let the scientist walk away from the challenge like any rational person would. Szayel cursed the raven locked man as he muttered for him to turn around, then sit so he could reach his shoulders more comfortably. Standing was still awkward, so he kneeled, closing the height difference between them.

His back was broad, and muscled, and taught, and… _oh this is such a bad idea._ Szayel swallowed as he placed his hands on those toned shoulders, wondering how a guy who worked in a café could be that fit. His small, pale hands seemed dwarfed in comparison, but doggedly, he began his task.

His palms pressed into the muscle behind his neck, working in gentle but firm circles. As he explored his shoulders, he became more confident in his technique, adjusting his tough to suit Nnoitra's personal needs. With some, only a light hand was needed. With others, a heavier touch was required to draw the tension from their body. Nnoitra fell somewhere in between, which surprised him; he'd expected to have to use a firmer hand. As he worked on his shoulders, Nnoitra relaxed, leaning back into his touch.

"Where'd you learn to massage?" he asked as Szayel targeted a knot with his thumbs, applying more pressure to the snarled region.

"I used to practice on my brother when he'd come to me for patching up. His master was… difficult."

"You have a brother?"

"Had."

"Oh."

"It's of little consequence. I rarely thought of him even when he was around."

"You two didn't get along?"

"You might say that. Though we were related, we weren't all that similar. Even in appearance."

"What did he look like?"

Szayel paused, and Nnoitra looked back to see what had caused him to stop.

"Why do you want to know?" the scientist finally asked, resuming his progress. He'd worked his way down to Nnoitra's shoulder blades and busied himself with tracing widening circles using the pads of his thumbs. The muscle remained taut, but it smoothed out beneath his touch, losing some of the nervous tension. Szayel swallowed and resisted the sudden, irrational impulse that prompted him to move away from his back and forwards, towards his chest. To wrap his arms around that strong torso and-

"I dunno. I guess it makes you seem more real. More ordinary. Human."

Talking. Talking was a good idea._ Thank you Ylldfordt… you're finally good for something other than experimentation._ Heating slightly at the thought of what he'd just wanted to do, Szayel seized upon their conversation as a distraction.

"Hmm. You can try to humanize me as much as you want, but it won't change what I am. In answer to your question, my brother Ylldfordt was tall, slender, and blonde. His hair was much longer than mine, reaching to about mid-back, and straight. Very fine, but he had a lot of it; he was always very proud of his appearance. Huh… I guess we share that trait between us. His skin and eyes were dark though; he had more of a caramel complexion, and his eyes were approximately the color of dark chocolate. Only our facial structure was the same.

As for our dispositions… though he was proud, he was also servile. Completely devoted to his master, Grimmjow. He would never have amounted to much, and indeed he didn't, dying for that same master. The perfect Fraccion. Somewhat of a hothead too; I don't know how we ever could have been related."

"Who is this Grimmjow, and what was he in relation to you?"

"A colleague. Aizen gave us numerical rankings according to our power levels. The ten highest ranked were called Espada and given the right to wield power over others of our kind as well as choose subordinates to serve us; Fraccion."

"What were you?"

"A member of the Espada. I was the Octava; the eight highest ranked."

"And Grimmjow?"

"The Sexta; the sixth."

"And me?" Nnoitra asked without a moment's hesitation. Szayel sighed, wishing the human weren't so shrewd.

"Figured it out, have we? Yes, you were one of the Espada, and your ranking was the Quinta, or the fifth," he admitted quietly. Nnoitra seemed pleased by this.

"Yeah. The way you talk about your brother and the way you talk to me… I'd have to have been at your level or higher for you to even acknowledge me."

"True," Szayel muttered dryly, "It certainly made you memorable."

"Oh?"

He did not need to see Nnoitra's face to know he was grinning, and he regretted his choice in words. Obviously, the man was drawing his own conclusions about their relationship.

"You were insufferable to everyone, though you tormented me especially. Lets just say I was sorely tempted to slip cyanide into your tea on many occasions. It would have been therapeutic, but of course, Aizen would have punished me for killing you. I would have been stripped of my lab, and that was not something I was willing to sacrifice for a bit of petty revenge," he amended stiffly.

"Even then, huh…" was Nnoitra's musing remark.

"Pardon?" Szayel asked, dreading the answer he already knew. Hearing it out loud would only make it official.

"Even then I was after you. Can't say I'm surprised either; you're so damn tempting, especially how you play hard to get."

Szayel coughed, clearing his throat which had suddenly closed up, and tried to ignore how his cheeks and ears caught fire. He was glad Nnoitra's back was to him so he couldn't see his face which must surely be bright pink at this point. That was the trouble with having such a light complexion; every emotion showed up like a neon sign.

"Despite my reputation, I wasn't easy. Unlike many of the other Arrancar. I can only presume it was this and my status that drew your… attention. You couldn't force me to yield to you because of my rank, so you settled for making my life hell. Congratulations to you; you are one of the few who managed to get under my skin so regularly, that is, when you weren't off sleeping with someone. Be grateful the dead don't have STD's; you surely would have caught one," he muttered wryly, trying to cover up for his embarrassed reaction.

His hands meanwhile had continued their progress down either side of his spine, stroking and soothing the muscle diligently despite his emotional turbulence. That was something he prided himself on; his ability to separate work from personal subjectivity. Locating the paths where spiritual energy flowed along his spine, he tapped into the twin lines, exploring the flow.

It was a little stagnant, blocked perhaps by stress or disuse. Or both even. He brushed down the curve of his back with his fingertips, allowing some of his own energy to enter into the channels, breaking up the stagnation and stimulating the flow of Nnoitra's energy. Power called to power after all. As he applied his whole palms to his skin, Nnoitra suddenly reached back and caught his wrists, twisting to face him.

"That's good. It's about time I returned the favor though."

Szayel nodded dazedly and allowed himself to be turned so it was once again Nnoitra behind him. His propinquity was very distracting. The heat of his bare chest fanned out across his back, and he nearly flinched when Nnoitra's big hands settled over his shoulders. He didn't know what was worse; touching Nnoitra, or Nnoitra touching him. The lunatic part of his mind sighed that both were equally agreeable.

"I think I've got the general feel for it, but you're gonna have to start me off," the taller man said, his breath tickling his neck. Szayel's skin prickled.

"Begin with gentle, circular motions. Use your palms at the beginning, but switch to using the pads of your thumbs around the shoulder blades. You can increase the pressure after you've gauged how tense the person is," Szayel said.

He picked it up quickly, gaining confidence within a minute or two. The circles became firmer and more practiced, and Szayel found himself relaxing despite himself. The hands on his back were warm and soothing, rubbing away the stress he'd built up since… who knew when? Years at the very least. It felt good.

"When you reach the shoulder blades and spine, don't press down on the bone or you'll hurt them. Focus on the muscle. You may encounter tougher regions where it has knotted. Give these spots extra consideration and apply pressure as needed, but maintain the circular motion," he added as Nnoitra worked his way down.

"You've got a lot of those," he remarked, leaning in to concentrate on just such a snarl. Szayel tensed a little as he drew closer, and Nnoitra noticed.

"So you had a reputation?" he teased, going back to their conversation.

"Purely and superficially based on my appearance," he muttered.

"Just your appearance, huh?"

Szayel bit his lip.

"Perhaps… I behaved a little flamboyantly as well," he conceded, "But I didn't deserve ninety percent of the accusations leveled at me. Certainly, the rumors were blown way out of proportion."

"That I can believe."

"Really… I'm so glad," he murmured sarcastically, but Nnoitra was not finished.

"You don't even realize it about yourself, but the way you act…"

Szayel's feeling of apprehension skyrocketed again as he was reminded of a familiar scene back in the park. His body stilled, stiffening in trepidation as he waited for Nnoitra to continue.

"What?" he prompted, licking his dry lips.

Nnoitra did not finish, evading the answer as he worked at another knot.

"Boy are you jumpy Szayel. Freezin' up like I'm going to do something horrible to ya."

"Of course I am, given past scenarios," he protested mulishly. Nnoitra laughed.

"See, that's exactly it. You're so shy when it comes to relationships, you can't help but draw people to you. They see that insecurity and take it for weakness… and any man would be tempted to exploit that apparent weakness. If it weren't for your rank, it wouldn't surprise me to learn that more of your colleagues and fellow Arrancar hit on you. They definitely entertained fantasies about you at least, which was the source of a lot of those rumors I'm betting."

Szayel's hands clenched into fists as he leaned away from Nnoitra, all too conscious of his words and proximity. The heat that fanned across his back was disconcertingly close, the hands on his skin too hot. A sudden chill wracked his body, and he shuddered, pushing a wet lock of hair behind his ear as he struggled to keep calm and think clearly.

"Is that so…" he murmured with a nervous laugh.

Nnoitra's hands left his back, circling around his body until he was trapped in his arms. His chest pressed against him, the skin damp and hot and tense with sudden anticipation. Szayel's muscles tightened in response, his breath quickening as Nnoitra buried his face in his neck, his lips brushing the delicate skin.

"We never got to finish that conversation from the other day," he husked into his ear, his voice dripping arousal. The casual words conveyed so much more passion than any clichéd innuendo he could have uttered, and coupled with the inviting kiss he planted on his neck, they were enough to make him shiver.

"Nnoitra…" he began, but was cut off by the taller man's roving hands, which moved up his chest to his nipples. He twisted these, eliciting a cry of pain from the scientist followed by a groan as they hardened and flared with a sweeter ache that warmed him from within. Szayel had long known the region in the brain that controlled pleasure overlapped with the region that regulated pain stimuli. He knew this from data and from personal experience, but _this_…

He cried out again as Nnoitra bit his earlobe, drawing the soft flesh into his mouth as he breathed heat across his throat. _This_ was overpowering. He rode a high of adrenaline and endorphins as his body reacted with violent force to Nnoitra's touch.

"Stop it!" he gasped, finding his voice long enough to utter a breathy demand, but Nnoitra only crushed him closer, nuzzling his cheek while his fingers traveled lower to more sensitive regions. Szayel's eyes sprang wide as he stroked the inside of his thigh, edging dangerously close to a certain appendage.

"Admit it. You don't want me to stop," he huffed into his ear. His voice was a throaty growl, constricted by desire.

"Yes I do!" he protested desperately.

Nnoitra's fingers circled his cock and squeezed. Szayel yelped and jerked forward, his body reacting instinctively to that contact. Dimply, he heard himself moan pathetically as a flame of need leapt into his belly, setting his groin on fire and his body to quivering. It was mortifying to feel himself harden and submit so willingly to his advances. As if he could read his thoughts, Nnoitra relented, giving him a brief respite as he turned him around so that they faced each other.

"That wasn't quite fair of me," he admitted huskily, "But you wouldn't stop arguing. Do you see now/"

"No…" he panted as helpless tears of frustration sprang to his eyes.

"There's so much repressed desire you've been holding back, so much sexual tension that needs release. Even if you didn't want this, you wouldn't be able to help yourself. The fact it's consensual makes it all the more irresistible."

"Consensual… hah!" he spat, but his convictions lay in shambles, obliterated by the powerful need that raged for release. Nnoitra ducked, planting a kiss in the hollow of his throat that intensified as hit bit the tender flesh, leaving a welt in the skin. He clutched his ribs as he knelt, his tongue sliding out to flick tauntingly over his skin. When he reached his left nipple, he paused, looking up into his flushed face. Szayel's eyes pleaded with him petulantly, and Nnoitra offered him a wicked smile as he licked the rosy tip. At his following groan, he sucked, drawing from his lips a startled gasp as from he hind his navel he felt a _pull_ and a wave of desire rocked him at the core.

Meanwhile, he'd already abandoned his nipple and captured his mouth, leaving Szayel off balance and wishing he'd take the other as well and- No… was he really wishing_ that_? _This is so wrong. I'm out of my mind. I shouldn't be enjoying what he's doing to me. I-_

Nnoitra's hands clamped over his hips, drawing them flush to his, and all thoughts fled his mind as his tongue entered his mouth, twining around his and leaving him dazed and breathless. Szayel closed his eyes and let Nnoitra draw him down into the water, the world lost in a giddy kaleidoscope of pleasure and heat. His hands and lips were everywhere, kissing, taunting; exploring places he didn't touch. Every other second he discovered some new way to make him moan, some new way to make him beg, some new reaction to coax from him he didn't even know he cold give. His name uttered roughly to the gray sky was as sensual a word as he'd ever heard, and Szayel's answering murmur more charged than any declaration. It was electric on his lips.

All his shyness seemed so pointless now. Why on Earth had he held out against _this?_ _What have I been doing all my life?_ His resistance seemed laughably ridiculous, and indeed, he did giggle as Nnoitra kissed his stomach and teased his legs apart, folding them back so he was positioned between them. He gazed own into Szayel's eyes, lips quirking into a smile as he pinned him against the wall of the hot spring. The smooth stone dug into his back, giving him a rare feeling of solidity; everything else was cloudy, ephemeral. They both panted from their play, though Nnoitra seemed slightly less winded.

"This is your first time."

Not a question, but a statement. Szayel nodded anyways.

"If you weren't so innocent, I wouldn't believe you. It's hard to believe anyone could have the restraint to leave you alone."

His heart skittered at that, and he frowned at him, growing slightly defensive.

"You're not giving me any credit, Nnoitra."

The lanky man grinned crookedly and kissed his forehead, ignoring him.

"You know you're adorable when you pout? I just want to screw you senseless."

"Nnoitra!" he exclaimed, glaring, but some part of him, the part high on hormones and demanding closure (which was admittedly most of him) liked the idea. His small voice of reason despaired and packed up, finally giving in.

Perhaps too soon. Even as Nnoitra massaged his hips, a voice rang out across the water.

"Having fun are we, Takeda?"

Nnoitra froze, his face going rigid with shock. Szayel detected a hint of fear in his eyes as he looked up, then openly blanched. He pulled Szayel stiffly to his side as the scientist twisted around to see who had startled the taller man so.

There were two of them actually, though only one had spoken, and they stood at the edge of the path where it opened out from the bamboo grove onto the hot spring. Szayel guessed the taller, heavyset man had spoken for he wore an air of confidence about him that bespoke dominance while the smaller man had a pinched expression and a noticeable slouch. More interesting to the pink haired Arrancar than their appearance was the effect they seemed to have on Nnoitra. He seemed to be expecting conflict, his muscles tensed in a fight or flight instinct. The leader of the pair noticed and sneered, taking a step forward.

"I thought I saw you get off at Shima Hot Springs, so I figured, why not pay my old friend Nobu a visit? Happy to see me?"

"Thrilled," Nnoitra replied, casually pulling Szayel closer. The man leered.

"Maybe not. It seems I interrupted quality time with your newest toy."

"That's no problem. You can just leave us in peace and be on with your business," offered Nnoitra, "No hard feelings or anything, Namikawa."

Namikawa smirked, unwrapping an ultra fine, translucent thread from around his forearm and pulling it taut between his hands; strangling wire.

"Unfortunately I've made it my business to kill you today and rid my faction of your mafia's mediator, so you can see where our schedules may conflict. No hard feelings."

"Ah," murmured Nnoitra, "That is problematic."

Namikawa scowled.

"Trying to act suave in front of your boyfriend? Its too bad you brought him here; now he'll get dragged into your shit, although…" he paused, considering Szayel with an appraising look that quickly transformed into a suggestive smile, "He's too pretty to waste. Hey, why don't you dump this sorry fucker and join us? We'll treat you nice."

Disgusting. Szayel glanced up at Nnoitra, looking for his reaction to the other man's comment, and to his surprise he seemed… concerned? Did he think he'd actually even consider joining them? Or maybe there was more to it. His expression was pained as he glanced at the two men, then the strangling wire, then back at him before repeating the cycle, and Szayel reconstructed his thought process.

_I'm outnumbered, one of them has a weapon, and I have Szayel to worry about. _Correction. _I have to save myself… but I also have to protect Szayel._ How sweet, that he thought enough of him to agonize over this decision. He could probably make it if he was alone or if he'd just abandon the scientist… yet he hesitated still, his life hanging in the balance of his indecision.

He was so unlike Nnoitra. He was so human. And he was so, so foolish. But he was _his_ fool, and in that moment, something snapped in Szayel. He would not stand and watch some other human refuse hurt what belonged to him, not when he could do something about it. His Nnoitra was clever, but sometimes he was so impossibly obtuse. Wrapping his arms around his neck, Szayel batted his eyelashes at Nnoitra and murmured in breathy tones, "Hold me… I'm feeling faint." He buried his face in Nnoitra's chest as he lifted him with puzzlement, then quietly whispered to him, "If you do anything weird to me while I'm gone. I'll do to you what I'm about to do to them."

The pair looked on as, for all intents and purposes, Szayel fainted. Only Nnoitra realized what happened, and his eyes went wide as he watched him separate from the gigai and hover over the surface of the water.

"Maybe its better he fainted; he won't have to see us strangle you," Namikawa spat with savage glee.

_Oh no you don't,_ Szayel thought as he strode over to him. Just before he reached the man, he turned and blew Nnoitra a kiss, giving him a coy wave. Then he walked up to Namikawa and twined his arms around his shoulders, drawing the man to him. He looked startled at suddenly having been grabbed by seemingly nothing.

"Wha-?" he exclaimed before Szayel cut him off with a passionate kiss. His tongue slid into his waiting mouth, flicking slyly against the soft wall of his cheek, and Namikawa ceased arguing, accepting the solid feel of the invisible force in his mouth. His hands felt for his back, and finding it, promptly slid down to his ass, pinching hard. Szayel crushed his body to the bigger man's, rubbing up against him suggestively in a decidedly feline manner. Namikawa was only too happy to comply, grinding his hips into Szayel's as his tongue forced its way greedily into his mouth, curling around his and drawing him further into him.

What his companion thought, Szayel could only wonder. To him it must seem as though Namikawa were having a nervous breakdown, becoming aroused by empty air. Nnoitra's reaction was also unknown, though he suspected that if he was to turn and look, he'd be wearing an expression of extreme surprise. Szayel himself was pleased to learn that while it felt good to seduce Namikawa, the man inspired none of the heat or desire Nnoitra pulled from him so effortlessly. He felt nothing from their kiss.

Which meant… he did love Nnoitra after all, or at least liked him. This revelation brought with it a sense of relief. Finally, he was able to confirm his troubling feelings.

Namikawa grunted into his mouth, and Szayel decided he'd had enough. Disentangling himself from the brute, he pushed him away, exerting some of his reiatsu. It sent him stumbling back with dumb shock, not quite registering with his brain. Szayel wiped the slime from his bruised lips and spat, ridding himself of Namikawa's taste, but it had been a worthy sacrifice. His revenge would sweeten the revolting flavor on his tongue.

"Walk over to me and stop," he commanded quietly, his eyes glinting as he smiled dangerously, and Namikawa complied. Of course he would; he had no choice.

"Hold out your hand."

Namikawa did so, looking terrified, and Szayel reached into the pocket of his hakama. That was nice; being fully clothed. One might call it excessive, but he dressed his spiritual body even when he went about in a gigai, and Szayel was grateful his meticulous habit had paid off. Though he wore his zanpakuto strapped to his waist, he didn't touch the weapon. This scum was not worthy to handle the sword. Instead, he withdrew a scalpel, freeing the razor fine tip from its plastic cover. He placed this instrument into Namikawa's hands, confiscating from him the strangling wire.

"Kill him," he instructed, smiling.

Namikawa couldn't hear a word he said, which must have made what followed all the more horrifying. The look of panic on his face as he stumbled over to his companion was priceless; at that point, he must have realized what his body was urging him to do, but he couldn't help himself. Szayel was inside of him, controlling his actions. Amazing what a little spit and some cheek cells could do. Though Nnoitra could hear every word he said, he too must have been mystified by what was happening; there was no rational _human_ explanation for it.

It was truly elegant how he worked, not a single finger lifted in effort yet Szayel controlled every inch of this act; a silent puppeteer. The world slowed to vivid freeze frames that brought every detail into startling relief. The beads of sweat on Namikawa's forehead, the silver scalpel glittering in the misty light, his lips slightly parted in fear as he staggered forward. His companion's face was a mask of incomprehension at first, which quickly widened to terror. The palms of his hands came up to ward off his impending demise even while he tried to reason with the suddenly crazed man.

"Namikawa-" he began, the first time Szayel heard him speak, and his voice pitched high with fear managed only that single appeal before it cut off in a ratting gurgle. He reached uselessly for his throat, gasping as pink froth choked him and a tide of crimson spewed from the bloody grin carved into his neck. The nameless man, victim of ill fortune, toppled gracelessly, and Szayel watched with rising delight as the life in his eyes extinguished.

Namikawa shook as he stood over the corpse, staring in horror at his bloody hands and the instrument that had spilled that blood. His anguish was gratifying to the scientist, but he was not done with him yet. No. For him he had planned a more excruciating end.

"Stand up straight Namikawa, and take off your robe."

The man stripped, letting the thin covering puddle around his feet. His nakedness did not ruffle Szayel, as he did not see him for a person but as a thing to be used. A message, and not just as a symbolic gesture of his displeasure but in the most literal sense of the term. He considered several spots where he might place his words, but ultimately settled on the stomach as the best choice for the task; the man's chest was too heavily obscured by hair.

"Carve these words into your stomach starting here," he pointed just below his sternum, "and ending here," he indicated a point above his navel. "Take care not to cut too deeply, but don't trace them faintly either; I want clean, visible strokes. Your message is as follows."

Szayel paused to consider the words he wanted to convey. It must be a succinct message; he was limited by space, but he also wanted to make it memorable. He decided on a cryptic warning.

"I died for a taste that left me breathless; tempt not the gods of death."

Namikawa shuddered as he placed the sharp edge of the scalpel against his skin and made the first incision, then the second and the third… with each stroke, red seeped to the surface, lining the cuts with dark rouge. They stood out boldly against the fish-belly white of his stomach, painting it with bloody trails as the fluid dripped down his front with macabre brightness. The color was mesmerizing, morbidly beautiful. He longed to run his fingers through the rivulettes and touch the coppery, salty tang to his tongue.

More cuts. More bloody lines. They followed in the scalpel's wake like so many tinted tears. His skin wept as it bloomed under the blade, delicate petals colored by agony. His face was suffused with a look of sublime suffering, as if the pain had transcended mortal boundaries and blurred the line between ecstasy and anguish; art in its purest form. Divine. Euphoric even. Szayel sighed, pulse quickening as Namikawa whimpered over the next incision, and felt the sting in his own stomach as keenly as his victim. His mind, so familiar with suffering, recreated the torment he must be enduring.

It was delicious. Invigorating he might even say. Laughter burbled on his lips, growing louder until it rang throughout the mountain, but only he and Nnoitra were privy to it. How good it felt to laugh! How good it felt to watch this human mutilate himself. How _alive_ it made him feel. He derived a sweet thrill from the knowledge that he held absolute power over this pathetic wretch. It was liberating, addictive. If he'd been repressing sexual desire as Nnoitra claimed, then he'd also been repressing _this_ side. The visceral, savage pleasure of causing tangible suffering… he'd denied himself this gratification for so long.

Namikawa finished his task and let the scalpel fall from his senseless fingers, his hands shaking, and Szayel shook his head, a predatory grin creeping across his face.

"Oh no. Not yet. We're not done yet. Pick up the scalpel Namikawa."

He fished the instrument from a slippery, crimson pool of his blood and held it expectantly. The light in his eyes was dying; he was losing hope. Despairing.

"Why don't you smile Namikawa? Give me a big smile."

The man smiled, or tried to. It came out as more of a grimace the way his eyes reflected back so blankly. Joy it seemed had long ago seeped out with his blood. Szayel tutted and berated him playfully.

"That won't do at all," he cajoled, "It seems you're having a bit of trouble, so I'll help you. Take the scalpel and go like this," he traced a line from the corner of his lips to his cheekbone, "And then again on the other side. See? A smile!"

Namikawa closed his eyes as he raised the scalpel to his mouth, positioning the edge sideways. He hesitated for a moment, fighting against the power that compelled his limbs, then the blade caught the edge of his lips and tore upwards brutally. He screamed as the flesh parted before the scalpel, but obediently turned it in his hand and repeated the ghastly procedure on the other side. This time when he finished, he did not drop the tool but hunched over it, panting and dripping blood on the walkway. A low, keening cry issued from his quaking form as he hid behind the dark curtain of hair that separated him from his tormenter. Szayel tilted his head, thrilled by his suffering. He was breaking, bit by bit.

"Show me your face, won't you Namikawa? Stand up and look at me so I can see your pretty smile," he teased.

Namikawa straightened, exposing his gory handiwork to Szayel's scrutiny. From cheek to cheek stretched a morbid grin, obscenely crimson like a slab of raw meat. Beneath the red, Szayel saw a flash of white where the bone had been laid bare. The gruesome image only worsened as he peeled back his lips in a parody of a smile, and the newly cut flaps of skin gaped open to reveal his gums and teeth in a way nature had never intended.

"Beautiful," he murmured, and Namikawa groaned, resuming his keening whimper as he slouched again. Szayel hummed soothingly in a sick mockery of compassion.

"Don't fret; we're almost finished with our game. Take the scalpel one last time and cut up along your arms like this. Make them as long and straight as you can. If you do it right, then we can have a little race."

Baring the underside of his left arm, Namikawa ripped a jagged gash along its length. His second cut, down the right, elicited a gasp, and he let both arms hang limply at his sides once he'd finished. Blood pumped steadily out of his veins, twin rivers of scarlet overflowing their banks. Only now did Szayel move, approaching the shattered man and kneeling in front of him. With one gloved hand he tilted his chin up with deceptive gentleness; with the other, he took the scalpel from his trembling grip. His uniform turned red as his blood seeped into the white material, staining it.

"You've done well Namikawa. Your performance was breathtaking. But now we must hurry; time is against us, and I would like to see this play draw to a satisfactory close. Take this."

He passed the clear strangling wire to the man, who accepted it tentatively, staring at it numbly. He was starting to lose consciousness from the blood loss.

"Wrap it around your neck a few times. Five should do it."

He coiled the thread around his throat, each time cutting a little more into his trachea. His breathing grew labored as he wrapped it the fifth time.

"Now pull. Tight. As tight as you can, and don't stop even if your eyes go dark and your body fails you. Keep pulling, and see if you can't beat the blood loss."

Namikawa pulled, and the string wire crushed his windpipe. With _both_ hands he pulled that string, his tongue lolling out grotesquely as he starved for hair. His face turned red at first, then purple, then blue; his lips parted futilely, attempting to draw in air. His heart beat erratically, striving to make do with the limited oxygen that remained to it, and in its attempts to keep him alive, it only forced the blood out of his veins faster. From every wound he bled. The terrible letters carved into his body burned scarlet. Oozing. Crying out at the puckered edges. But even so, it was the asphyxiation that won out. The blood loss may have helped to down him, but the lack of air was what finished him. He toppled forward against him, and Szayel eased his corpse into his lap, brushing back the crusting, matted locks from his face where they clung to his mutilated cheeks.

Namikawa's eyes stared blankly through him, but examining his features closely, Szayel detected a subtle smile on his lips. Amid the agony of dying, he'd found a reprieve in the pleasant delirium of asphyxiation. His last moments had been mercifully attached. Well, he wasn't about to begrudge him that small fortune; Szayel kissed his bloody forehead and shoved his cooling body away. It crumpled, an ungainly heap of limps and flesh. Empty. And empty vessel. Licking his lips, he stood and turned, facing Nnoitra.

He did not know what he expected to find in his expression. Perhaps fear? Perhaps revulsion? Something at least, but what met him as he gazed upon the one he'd done all this for was nothing. His face was devoid of any emotion.

Szayel's mouth quirked into a wry smile, and he walked across the water towards him, moving slowly but surely. When he reached him, he offered the man a half shrug, then slipped into his body. The world ceased to be euphorically hazy as his leaden, artificial limbs reclaimed his soul, and he stirred in Nnoitra's arms, opening his amber eyes.

"You can put me down now, Nnoitra," he murmured softly. Nnoitra lowered him silently, letting his feet find the solid floor of the hot spring while he steadied him from behind.

Witnessing the brutal murder– no, torture –of Namikawa had done something to the taller man. His eyes were haunted by some unfathomable specter. Poor thing had learned a lesson about him in a most unfortunate way.

"Do you think me cruel? Do you despise me for what I did?" he asked, running his fingers through his dark hair; clean fingers, unsullied by blood. On the surface at least. Inside, he still wore Namikawa's blood, and it stained not only his hands but his tongue as well. He tasted his death. It was an intoxicating flavor. _Could you have done the same? What needed to be done?_ he wondered to himself, though he did not voice these questions.

Nnoitra did not respond, still numb, and Szayel sighed as he tugged the taller man after him.

"Come on, let's find another hot spring. This one has become a little too busy."

Bending over, he picked up their robes and tossed Nnoitra his before pulling his own on and tying it closed. He looked back to see how the human was fairing, but he seemed to have no trouble with the article of clothing. His movements were sure, smooth; only his face reflected nothing. Szayel doubted they'd be finishing their "chat" this time around either, which was just as well; he'd drawn closure from Namikawa's end. Skirting the pool of red that diffused slowly through the cracks between the flagstones, Szayel led Nnoitra back into the rain.

* * *

**Author's Comments**:

So then... *Nervous laughter* You all get to see what a sick individual I really am. ^^; Honestly, this entire chapter was completely different from how I'd originally planned it. It wasn't going to be set in a hot spring until I started writing, and then it wasn't supposed to get so smutty. But the real kicker was probably the morbid torture scene at the end, which came out of left field. Really. I... was not expecting gore and violence in this fic until... er, the end. o~o Meep. But as I said, I'm a sick twisted individual who can't write normal romance, so it crept in regardless of my intentions.

Blame Nnoitra. And Szayel. Nnoitra's a mobster, and Szayel's a sadist, so it all worked against me. D= The flaw was there from the start. Anywho... enough excuses. Isn't love sweet? Szayel does all this for Nnoitra because he comes to the realization that he likes him. Just makes you want to go aww doesn't it? *Shoots self* And then what's up with Nnoitra? Well, he was after a certain something from the start, but he's realized that what he took for granted is quite a bit more serious than he'd thought. Nothing more shocking than realizing your boyfriend, even after he's told you countless times he isn't human or nice, is a sadistic murderer who gets off killing people with disturbing pleasure. Yum. Good old gangster romance. T_T See? They didn't get too ooc. I hope.

I'mma stop now, before I dig myself a deeper hole. See you around in the next chapter... assuming you stick around. I'm gonna have to change my plans again and introduce a new chapter to make up for the chaos this one wrought. Such are the joys of writing. x~x Review please? Even if its critical, though I could probably use some encouragement/positive commentary just about now. ;=;


	10. Reset

It was terrible. Calamitous. An absolute crisis. Szayel lay disconsolate on the couch, his lachrymose golden eyes gazing tragically into the distance. One arm supported his head while the other was flung at a listless, haphazard angle. An expression of acute suffering suffused his pallid face. He hadn't known at the time how disastrous his method of killing Namikawa and the other man would turn out to be, otherwise he might have reconsidered. The transient pleasure of breaking Namikawa physically and psychologically gave him no comfort now. Yet he could not turn back the hands of time. Actions had their consequences, and this was his burden to bear. Even if it caused him untold misery.

_How could I have been so stupid? How could I have not stopped to consider this possibility? I acted on impulse… too rashly… and now… I'm pathetic. Crippled by this. It's affected me so deeply, I never thought I would miss…_ He stopped his own train of restless, troubled thought, closed his eyes, and just lay there for a minute, wallowing in self pity. _But I can't let this keep me from my duty. I must overcome this setback, no matter how painful it may be. I have to rise above it._

Yes. He would face the fate he had inflicted upon himself and put it all behind him. It was the only thing he could do… unless he cut the suffering short and abandoned his attachment. That was probably the best thing to do. The most practical in any case. But Szayel hated to give up or lose, and so he decided to see it through to the bitter end. Pulling himself upright, the scientist quietly rose and walked to the closet that contained his lab. Resolve firm, his tragic expression took on a touch of nobility as he gravely took up his task. There; lying on the sterile metal operating table was the object of his ignominious state… pale faced and deathly still…

His favorite gigai, stricken low by illness. How marvelously unfair that Namikawa could haunt him from beyond the grave. Of course, it was only his gigai that had taken sick; spiritual body was fine, and Szayel doubted he could catch any human viruses. But his material form was another matter entirely. It was made to interact with humans and as such was susceptible to human maladies. When he'd kissed Namikawa, the man had transferred whatever cold he'd had to Szayel's gigai, and three days later… the scientist had come down with a full blown cold of his own. Mucus, watery eyes, a sore throat, a wracking cough, a congested chest; the works. Everything but a fever, and who knew… perhaps he'd develop _that_ too.

But Szayel wasn't going to get over sickness by putting off wearing his afflicted gigai. Even if he invented a cure, his body would still have to get rid of the virus. So with a last sigh of self-pity and regret, Szayel entered his gigai. It felt like his lungs were being crushed by a boa constrictor. He coughed automatically, trying to draw breath, but only succeeded in setting off a chain of coughing that caused his narrow shoulders to spasm. He was wheezing and spitting up clods of phlegm in a lightheaded daze before he registered the beeping of his comChip; he had an incoming call. The number was Nnoitra's. Szayel connected to it at once.

"Hello?" he muttered groggily.

"Szayel! Where the hell have you been? I've been trying to contact you since yesterday!" Nnoitra exclaimed with a mixture of irritation and relief. He appeared before him as a slightly peeved figure in a black apron; he was at work then. Szayel smiled wanly.

"I've been out."

"Out?"

"Yes. Out of this body. Which would make me hard to get a hold of-"

Szayel broke off into a second bout of spastic coughing and closed his eyes as his lungs attempted to drag themselves out through his mouth. Or at least, that's what it felt like. When he opened his eyes again, Nnoitra's irritation had left, replaced by curiosity as he examined the sickly pink haired man.

"You look like shit, Szayel. What happened?" he finally asked.

"Namikawa. It seems we exchanged a bit more than just spit," Szayel replied mournfully. Nnoitra's face gained a wary look.

"About that… actually, I was calling because I really need to talk a few things over with you. Do ya think you could come over to the café later today?" he asked hesitantly. No orders or grins or impertinence this time. Nnoitra was serious… which meant he no longer treated Szayel so lightly. Things were different now. _At least he still called me, which means he doesn't completely hate me. Not that that should matter… and anyways, its better that he understands what I am and what I'm capable of._

"Later today, yes," he replied, rubbing his runny nose against the back of his hand and wincing at the knowledge that Nnoitra was watching him, "Before then, I'm going to have a crack at getting rid of this accursed cold."

Nnoitra grinned faintly at that.

"Ya can't cure a cold Szayel. People have been tryin' that for ages with no luck. Its just an unpleasant fact of life."

Szayel scowled.

"Who do you think you're talking to? I am the Inventor. I craft diseases to amuse myself, and you think I cannot cure a common cold? Just watch me."

"Sure thing, pink haired freak. Let me know how that goes over. I'll see you when I see you."

"Goodbye," Szayel groused, but Nnoitra had already disconnected, his image dissolving as the call ended. Well, now he had motivation to invent a cure. Ah, fortunate humankind; that Szayel deigned to stoop to its unworthy level and dirty his hands with such minutiae as creating the first vaccine to relieve the world of this year round malady. A trifling deed. They ought to thank him for being so considerate. Sliding off the operating table, he padded over to his computer and settled himself into his comfortable chair. It was time to analyze some viral RNA.

***

He'd found ways to cure AIDS and Ebola. Cancer was on the wane as a major killer due to his advances in its treatment, and chronic ailments such as chickenpox were no longer just prevented through vaccination; they were eradicated. Though the world was more populous now, it was not dying at horrific rates from the pandemics earlier generations had predicted, vastly because of his efforts. The rare times a new disease emerged or he released one of his bioengineered plagues, the results were apocalyptic in that brief period of time it ravaged humanity. Even many viral diseases, notoriously difficult to cure because of the rate and frequency they mutated at, had been dealt with. Influenza was one notable example.

But for all his miraculous breakthroughs, for all his ingenious cures and solutions, a fix for the common cold eluded him. It probably didn't help that his sinuses were clogged and the steady pressure building in his head was rather distracting. Or that every couple of minutes, he would pause to blow his nose, wipe his teary eyes, and cough, thus wasting valuable time. Yet the fact remained that he was unable to puzzle through this.

_Maybe… if I base it off the cure for Influenza… _he thought as a glimmer of inspiration, which had up until this point lurked just out of reach, hit him. He'd been at this for hours with little progress.

_Instead of focusing on its mutability, if I focus on a structural piece that remains the same and is unique to the virus… Hmm… if I can trigger the immune system to detect and target that, then I can possibly eradicate the cold. The only question is, what is that piece I can target? By the time I finish designing and manufacturing a vaccine though, I'll probably be over the worst of it, and I'd still have to wait for my body to make use of it… It's no good. How frustrating._

In a world that had known horrifying illnesses, colds were inconsequential, especially because many of the immune deficiency ailments had been dealt with. No one would care to add yet another vaccine to the plethora that already existed, especially if it treated a non-fatal sickness. There was no point in curing the common cold. It was as Nnoitra had said just another unpleasant fact of life. Szayel sighed, abandoned his brainstorming, and left his lab, contacting Lumina and ordering him to bring some decongestants and cough syrup. If he had to suffer through his, then at least he could reduce the discomfort as much as possible.

The relief of taking them was not immediate nor as effective as he would have liked, but after a half hour, he no longer felt like his lungs would tear themselves apart and his head had stopped aching. There was no helping the runny nose, though his eyes had stopped tearing. His sore throat was also something he couldn't alleviate much, but that was tolerable so long as he didn't aggravate it very often by coughing. He was probably as good as he was going to be that day. With a grudging sniffle, he tuned into the weather forecast and groaned; sunny skies with temperatures in the high eighties. Today he'd wanted to bundle up and feel miserable for himself, not put up with gorgeous weather and carefree humans soaking up those glorious rays.

_Five straight days of rain, and then the day I go out it has to be clear and hot. The universe hates me._ Pulling out a pack of tissues, he blew his nose with a sour scowl and set to getting himself ready. He needed a shower and a change of clothes.

***

Showing up in front of the café door was surprisingly difficult. Not because his cold made walking through the sunbathed streets an onerous task. Not because he was a little apprehensive about talking to Nnoitra in person after five days of no communication. It was difficult because the weather had forced him to take a step outside his comfort zone and dress according to its whims, not his. Of course, he could have worn his usual ensemble of some sort of long sleeved shirt and pants, but he was already suffering enough from his sickness to add sweating to the list. How embarrassing _that_ would be, not to mention repulsive. And so, he'd bowed his head to nature this one time and graciously deigned to wear a more suitable outfit.

The shirt he wore was a rich garnet and skin tight like most of his clothing, but made of a breathable material that did not lock the heat against his body. It felt wonderfully fresh, especially because it was sleeveless and allowed the light breeze that meandered by to pass over the bare skin of his shoulders. It covered most of his torso, except for a small sliver of stomach near the bottom. He'd compromised on the collar with this one. It was present, but only covered half the amount one of his turtlenecks would have. The only reason he'd even had it hanging in his close was because the color really had appealed to him and he'd always figured he could wear it with another layer that would compensate for the sleevelessness. And really… the design was attractive. As with most of his shirts, it was not one solid color. Ruby stitching hid in the background of the dark garnet, flaring into view to reveal the ascendant form of a phoenix wreathed in flame whenever the light hit it at just the right angle. Another reason he'd kept it; the symbolism was irresistible.

Coupled with the showy shirt were a pair of cream colored capris. These were embroidered along the legs with violet thread and sported a fern-like patter of vines, otherwise they were ordinary. He'd traded boots for another pair of slipper shoes, these ones a shade between burgundy and plum. It had been a difficult call to forgo another sheer scarf, for often they came in useful, but wearing one would very well defeat his point in dressing light. So, thusly attired, he'd made his way down to the coffee shop.

The scientist hesitated before the entrance, questioning whether he should enter or not. The last time, he'd come of his own volition and fully on his own terms. He'd been invisible to ordinary humans. But this time was different. Nnoitra had asked him to come; he didn't know what to expect, and he was no longer a silent spirit. He was visible. Corporeal. He was vulnerable. But… just standing here indecisively wouldn't help him either. He'd already come, so why not get the confrontation over with? His resolve strengthened, Szayel pushed open the door.

The shop welcomed him with the soft chime of bells, the scent of coffee, and a wave of air conditioned coolness, which might have offered him relief from the sticky heat of the outdoors if he didn't have a cold. At the counter sat a familiar figure, though not the person he'd come to see.

"What can I get you, dear?" inquired Hiroko, glancing up with her keen dark eyes as she greeted her customer. Szayel let the door fall closed behind him and padded over to the counter.

"Is Nobu here?" he asked, nearly saying Nnoitra but recovering before he stuttered. _Thank god their names both start with the sound "no."_

Hiroko quickly tuned into Szayel's casual usage of his first name, her expression sharpening as she appraised his face and attire. No doubt she remembered Nnoitra mentioning he'd picked up a guy. Whatever she searched for, she seemed to find, because she nodded promptly and spoke.

"He's in the back working on something," the woman said, "Which is off limits to customers. But since it's our slow time of day… I think I can make an exception. Follow me."

She waved him after her and led him into the kitchen. On the far side of the room Nnoitra toiled over a batch of dough, looking extremely absorbed by his work. Flour had made its way into his hair, which was tied back into a ponytail so it wouldn't hang in his face, and his black apron was maculate with a variety of powdery stains.

"Hey Takeda, take a break for a second. You've got a visitor."

He stopped, looking up, and caught sight of the pink haired man standing next to his employer. Abandoning the dough, he eyed his sticky hands with rue, then glanced back over at him.

"Szayel… I wasn't expecting you until around five or six, since ya said you'd be working on that cure. I guess by now I should expect you to arrive early, but… you really did catch me at an awkward time," he said, waving his hands to demonstrate.

"I ran into some trouble with it, then decided inventing a cure would be pointless, so I abandoned that endeavor. However, theoretically I could have it solved. So it wasn't that I couldn't do it. Besides, I remembered you don't have many customers around this time of day, which would optimize the amount of time you'd have to discuss matters with me." Szayel replied.

Nnoitra quieted a little at that, striding over to the sink to wash off his doughy hands before he walked to where Szayel stood and looked down at the smaller man.

"Again, why I was expecting… no, hoping you'd arrive near when I got off work. Though now should be ok as well. Hiroko… I know you don't want to discourage any customers, but I think you should probably listen too. So, could you do me a huge favor an' close the shop for an hour?" he said, turning to look at the petite woman as he asked her this favor. She took in his serious demeanor with a critical look, finally nodding, and left to go change the sign in the front to closed.

"Hiroko-_san_," she emphasized before disappearing back into the café. Nnoitra stared after her for a moment before heading over to the broom closet and dragging out a couple of chairs which he set up for Szayel and Hiroko. He himself it seemed would remain standing. Szayel settled into one of the chairs, looking up at Nnoitra who paced, looking agitated. The taller man ceased his restless motion after a minute, leaning against the edge of one of the kitchen counters as he returned his silent gaze.

"How are you feeling?" he finally asked to break the silence.

"I could be better," was Szayel's reply.

"Yeah… being sick sucks, but its something us pathetic humans get to put up with," Nnoitra remarked. How subtle… so that event had really gotten to him. It was hard to tell on the day it had happened since he'd been so unresponsive afterwards, but now his psychological state was more apparent. It showed in the nervous tic of his pacing and in the way he spoke to him.

"I wouldn't know," Szayel replied callously with a sudden urge to rub the point further into his face, "I don't get sick."

Nnoitra winced slightly, acknowledging the unconscious barb he'd leveled at him before. Oh yes. It had_ really_ affected him. Hiroko chose that moment to return, seating herself in the chair he had provided.

"So, you going to introduce me?" she asked, gazing pointedly at Nnoitra. He looked startled for a moment by the innocent question, then nodded guiltily.

"Of course. Szayel, this is Hiroko; my employer and the owner of this café. Hiroko-san, this is Szayel, my…"

"Boyfriend," Szayel provided quietly to fill the awkward gap. Nnoitra looked a little surprised by this, and Szayel gave him an amused look. "Go ahead, call it what it is. After last week, I doubt I could delude myself about our relationship. Nor should you."

More lay in those mild words than was at first obvious, and even then it was something only they could understand. It was a language only audible to their ears, for it was learned through joined experience. Another little taunt of his.

"So you're the one," Hiroko said, ignorant of but not oblivious to the charged undercurrent of their words. She was a keen one. She had to be, if she was what he expected she was.

"Yes," he replied.

"What do you do?"

"I am an inventor by trade, but a scientist at heart and a politician by necessity," was his whimsical answer, "Szayel Aporro Grantz is my full, given name, however, you will find I am not in any data base if you plan on doing a background check on my identity. As Nobu had doubtlessly told you, I am somewhat of a recluse."

Hiroko's eyes narrowed and her smile faded somewhat. Or perhaps it didn't. Perhaps it was only her warmth; she seemed a little more guarded now.

"Now why would I run a background check on Takeda's boyfriend? Who he dates isn't my business," she remarked. He smiled.

"Some employers do, to make sure their employees aren't getting mixed up with unsavory sorts. Your objectivity is admirable."

She offered him a challenging smile in return, not quite trusting his stated reasons. They'd spoken a handful of words to each other and already she was suspicious of his character. Of course, he was going out of his way to drop hints; Szayel was in a rare mood to court danger, but she was certainly perspicacious. This woman amused him.

"Thank you, but I know Takeda knows better than to get involved with someone he _shouldn't._ He's a smart boy."

A silent warning directed towards Nnoitra and a dare to him. _Or else_ her eyes seemed to say._ He knows better or else there will be consequences._ Oh yes, he _liked_ her. She reminded him a little of himself, and not in the obnoxious way Kurotsuchi had. There was a toughness and perceptiveness about her that he had to admire. Szayel refrained from taking her bait, casting her a demure look and keeping his thoughts to himself. Nnoitra meanwhile had had enough of their back and forth battle of wills, breaking the tension by intervening.

"Szayel, stop provoking my boss. Hiroko-san… please…" he said, giving her a pleading look. She snorted.

"No one's provoking me, brat! So get on with your important news. Don't make me regret closing the café, or I'll give you something to really worry over."

"That's not what I'm worried about…" he murmured, running a hand through his hair and shaking out some of the flour, "Now how to start this…"

"How about Shima Hot Springs?" Szayel suggested with malicious cheer.

"Right…" muttered Nnoitra.

"What?" exclaimed Hiroko.

Nnoitra winced, and Hiroko's eyes flashed.

"He was with you when- How much does he know? How much have you told him, and why the hell didn't you consult me?" she demanded, rising, and Nnoitra paled.

"I-" he stammered incoherently, choking as he tried to convey with gestures his innocence, and once again Szayel stepped in to supply what he couldn't.

"He told me nothing, Mrs. Hiroko. I had my suspicions when we first met, and again later when he received that call a few weeks back. These were only confirmed when Namikawa arrived. He is not to be faulted for events he could not control."

Hiroko looked angry, her temper continuing to flare as she examined him through a new lens; that of a leader's assessing a threat. He returned her heated analysis with a cool look of amusement and knew that his calmness made him more dangerous in her eyes. He was too unruffled, too unconcerned by this revelation. He was hiding something.

"Be that as it may, the fact remains that you are aware of us, and we cannot be sure of you, an outsider. You put our organization at risk," she replied. Szayel smiled indulgently.

"Oh, I assure you I am no threat. I could not care less about your criminal organization. Just treat me like you would any ignorant civilian," he remarked playfully.

"Shut up Szayel!" yelled Nnoitra, getting frustrated and cutting off Hiroko before she could fling a retort. The scientist frowned, a little put out that he hadn't the chance to hear what he expected would have been a colorful threat.

"Alright, I'll tone it down," he sighed, "But I'm curious _Nobu_ how you explained the events away to your mob. Murdering two men so viciously really isn't in your nature, is it? You're more of a diplomat."

"You call that toning it down?" was his pained reply as he glanced over at Hiroko for her reaction. She hadn't missed the implication of his words, and her fury had abated, replaced by a cold, open hostility. Her face went hard as she looked at Szayel, and her words were spoken in biting tones.

"You're right. It isn't in his nature. Sure, physically he's capable of it, but psychologically… he doesn't have the will. Never killed a man in his life, probably won't until his hand is forced. I found it hard to believe when the Black Dragon gang called to accuse him of murdering two of their members, but no one else was at Shima Onsen at the time and Nobu _had_ been their intended target."

"That would place the deed squarely on his shoulders."

"Yes. Especially if he'd been _alone_ as we'd originally thought."

They stared at each other, sparks flying between them as they gauged each other's likely responses. This was a fun little game, enough to distract him from his sickness, which thankfully did not distort his voice in such a way that lessened his presence. Szayel broke the edgy silence first.

"Are you suggesting that I am the one who killed Namikawa and his accomplice?" he enquired innocently.

"Are you arguing otherwise?" she returned stridently. Szayel laughed at her boldness and answered her question with another.

"Are you saying that I," he paused to gesture at his delicate frame, "Could have handled those two by myself?"

She sneered at his ingenuous words, not falling for his diffident act.

"I'd believe it. There have been others as unlikely as you what have committed murder, and they are even some of the best because they seem so improbable. Behind that pretty face and polite façade, you have a real nasty streak. You've got power, boy, and you like to use it. I can tell. You exude the easy confidence of one whose murdered more than just those two. Not a ripple in your conscience. Takeda! Moron, you've involved yourself with someone dangerous!"

"He already knows that, but Mrs. Hiroko… you're hardly a saint yourself. As mistress of your mob, I wouldn't be pointing fingers. Yes, I killed those two, but only because as you said Nobu wouldn't have been able to."

"Will you two stop treating me like I don't exist?" interjected Nnoitra, losing what little patience he had left, "I didn't call you so you could be an asshole to my boss, Szayel, and Hiroko-san… I'd hoped you'd at least allow me a chance to explain myself before drawing conclusions. I'm not an idiot, and in case you two have forgotten, I'm supposed to be speaking."

"Then speak Takeda. Explain your _boyfriend._ Who the hell is he really? I don't believe he's just some quaint inventor. This man is a killer. Not only that, but he enjoys it. Namikawa's corpse was not a clean kill in self-defense; it was cruel. Thought out. The work of someone very experienced, which was why I had trouble believing you did it. What faction is he from?"

"He…" Nnoitra hesitated again. Szayel didn't blame him. What could he say? _Hiroko, my boyfriend is an inhuman undead soul who currently holds sway over much of the world through his company, Phoenix Corporations. Meet the Inventor. Pretty neat, huh? Turns out I'm his reincarnated crush, and I just happen to look and sound exactly like him. Oh, I can also see dead people apparently._ Yes, _that_ would go over _splendidly._ Szayel chuckled under his breath, cast him a soothing smile, and took over.

"I did not lie about being an inventor Mrs. Hiroko, nor do I owe my allegiance to any mafia or underground organization. However, I do have experience with killing and I do enjoy torturing my victims. I am not by any extent of the word merciful. Namikawa was not intended to be discreet, but as a message to his faction. 'Do not cross me, or I will kill you.' And it is true. As I said, I am no threat to your organization. I merely will not tolerate damage to what I consider mine. You might even find me beneficial. Tell me, have the Black Dragons made any further moves after I made my little display?"

"No. They haven't even claimed vendetta," she replied grudgingly.

"Then they have taken my message to heart and will not trouble you for some time. It's psychological; they went to kill one of your members only to meet with swift and brutal retaliation. Finding their man so mutilated… its enough to shake anyone's resolve, don't you think?"

"You are one sick individual Mr. Grantz," she informed him warily, "And I'm not sure I trust that you aren't involved with illegal dealings, but… I believe your motivations are what you say they are. And I believe you that you do not pose an immediate threat to us. So I will be watching you, but I will not make any other moves. After all, you did rescue our idiot… regardless of your methods."

"That's all I can ask of you. Again, I assure you that I am not a part of any official mob. However, I never claimed to be free of illicit dealings, and some have called my corporation a mafia unto itself. Still, the only interest in your group that I entertain lies with Nobu. I will not pry into or interfere with your group otherwise. In return, I expect that you do not pry into mine. Just because I'm dating your mediator does not mean I will put up with blackmail, and I should hate for things to become unpleasant between us. In all actuality, I rather like you Mrs. Hiroko."

He could tell the minute she put all the scattered hints together, for her enmity melted away to surprise, and her eyes widened. A look of disbelief flitted briefly across her face, then she glanced over at Nnoitra calculatingly.

"Nobu you devil, you're going out with… Do you know who he is?"

"Yeah," was his casual reply as he flashed her a grin, relieved that the worst of the conflict was over. She turned to Szayel for confirmation, her eyes going to the shirt he wore. In the background, the phoenix sparkled faintly in jeweled tones.

"Indeed. I am the head of Phoenix Corporations," he admitted, somewhat amused by how quickly she'd come to the conclusion. "So, is it ok for me to go out with Nobu? Since we've gotten over the 'we're actually a criminal organization' speedbump?"

"You would anyways," she grumbled, "But he doesn't belong to you, god knows most things do…"

"Sure he does," Szayel replied, "Or else I couldn't say _my_ boyfriend."

She blinked at his answer, then laughed, breaking the last of the tension.

"You're clever, brat. I'll concede that. I might even get to like you after awhile, provided you don't go harming anyone under my protection. Sure, he belongs to you, but you belong to him too, and he sold his sorry soul to us years ago, which makes you by default if not a member then at least an associate."

"And provided _he_ doesn't dump me and _you_ don't make the foolish move of abusing our 'association,' then I may deign to acknowledge that tie," he said. They both looked at Nnoitra then. He returned their expectant gazes with a wary one of his own.

"Hey," he finally replied, shrugging, "I may not kill people myself, but I live with people who do. Dumping you for that would make me a hypocrite, and anyways, I'm a little scared ta jilt ya after seeing what you can do. You enjoy revenge a little too much."

"Oh, don't let fear rule our relationship darling. I'd much prefer it if you stay with me because you actually like me. I won't hurt you for something as silly as that." Szayel commented musingly.

"That's the thing. I don't really know how I feel about you. Before… I wasn't serious. I was just playin', trying to get…" He trailed off, flushing slightly as he looked away. Szayel smirked at his loss for words over the sensitive topic.

"I know what you were after. I'm not naïve enough to think that you'd like _me_ so quickly."

"And that doesn't bother you?"

"Of course it does. It bothers me that you nearly got what you were after. I suppose I should thank Namikawa and the sorry bastard that was with him for interrupting us, or I might have done something I would have regretted later."

"Prude," Nnoitra remarked, detaching himself from where he was leaning against the table to glide over to him, a licentious grin playing about his lips, "You wouldn't have regretted it if it was with me."

Szayel smiled coldly at him.

"Oh really?"

Nnoitra smiled back teasingly and leaned in.

"Really," he whispered.

"Do I need to remind you why I'm sick, love?" he warned. Nnoitra frowned.

"You're such a bitch!" he protested, but stepped back.

"Good dog."

Szayel's body chose that moment to break off into a bout of racking coughs, and his head spun from the sudden violent fit. He was glad he was seated, or else he might have lost his balance.

"Shit!" he gasped when he could finally speak, "I think the medication's wearing off. I fucking hate you, you know? This is your fault!"

"Hey! I didn't tell you to go an' kiss him. How is this my fault?"

"I did it for you, that's why it's your fault!"

"Well it'll do you some good to be sick! Maybe then you won't treat us ordinary folk with such disdain."

"Ha! I don't have to put up with this crap. I could-"

His lungs protested his heated argument, shutting down mid-sentence and plunging him into another hacking fit. His head was killing him, aggravated by the coughing that jolted his body, and he fought off another wave of dizziness.

"Fuck…" he breathed when it was over, clutching the edge of his seat with white-knuckled intensity and not daring to yell anymore for fear that it might provoke a repeat attack.

"Fuck indeed, Szayel," Nnoitra remarked, looking a little concerned, "You positive you've got just a cold? It isn't tuberculosis or somethin' nastier? I mean, you really don't sound good."

"I know it's a cold," he said wearily, "I analyzed the RNA and structure. However, since this body has never been exposed to illness, I have a very weak immune system, thus… this cold is affecting me far more harshly than it ordinarily would."

"Then you should go home. Get some rest, eat well, and drink lots of fluids. Take medicine. Recover. Don't go snogging strange men."

"Very funny, Nobu. What if I don't feel like leaving yet?"

"Call me Nnoitra; I've gotten used to it. Hardy anyone calls me Nobu anyways. What're you gonna do then, stalk me while I work?"

"I'm serious. I don't want to go home. Its boring there."

"If I might interrupt this heartwarming discussion you two are having…" Hiroko suddenly said. They glanced over at her, having temporarily forgotten she was there. Szayel assessed her mood, which had changed once again. She was looking at them curiously, as if she couldn't quite believe what she was hearing.

"Am I to understand that you kissed Namikawa?" she asked.

"Yes," Szayel replied, "It was to distract him while I confiscated his strangling wire and then… dealt with him."

The lie was smooth, believable. Nnoitra raised an eyebrow, though he didn't comment on it. Later, he'd probably interrogate him for the details while Hiroko wasn't around to hear them. Hiroko whistled.

"Damn. You don't waste time. I can only imagine what Takeda thought. You call him Nnoitra though?"

"I was jealous as hell; he more than just kissed him. Namikawa had his hands all over 'im in a minute when it took me so much longer to get to that. But …not so much after he started slicing him up. Nnoitra is just a pet name of sorts," said the black haired man, answering for him. Hiroko looked thoughtful at his reply.

"I don't know what I think of you two. I can't say I'm pleased about him, but it seems your relationship is more than just passing. The way you two interact… it's like an old couple. You bicker, but there's something to it," she remarked, then glanced at Szayel, "You play a perilous game with people's lives, boy, as does anyone with power, but don't you dare get bored of him some day and treat him like your toy. I know he's a sleazy bastard, but he's our sleazy bastard, and I won't sit idle if he gets hurt. Know that. I don't care if you're the most powerful man in the world; I will find a way to get you back."

He dipped his head in acknowledgement of her impassioned declaration. Truly, she was a fierce woman to stand up to him even after learning his identity. She did not speak lightly either; her words were not bluffs, but an honest statement of her thoughts.

"Of course Mrs. Hiroko. If didn't defend him my respect for you would wane. I expected as much from you," he replied, managing not to sniffle until he'd finished speaking.

"Good. We're clear then. If you insist on hanging around but being useless, there's a bed upstairs in the flat above the café that you can use. No distractin' my employee until he's off paid work. Takeda, go show him upstairs, but come back as soon as you can; we need to reopen the shop."

"Yes Hiroko-san," he murmured as he motioned for Szayel to follow him up a flight of stairs near the back door of the café. They led up to a charming little studio that felt very lived in. The curtains were drawn, and a golden light illuminated the room. A bookshelf stood against one of the walls, accompanied by a plush reading chair, table, and lamp for lighting. The walls were painted a soothing sage; none of that modern minimalist look. It would have felt out of place here anyways. Szayel walked over the carpeted floor to the bed, which was just wide enough to be comfortable without feeling too large. He pulled back the comforter, appreciating its weight and softness, then trailed his fingers over the pillows.

"You really gonna stick around?" Nnoitra inquired as he watched him look over the mattress.

"Yes," he said, bending over to slide off his shoes and place them neatly by the side of the bed. He settled himself on the mattress, looking up at the taller man as he observed him from where he stood.

"I don't really get you, and I'm supposed to be a psychology major," he admitted.

"Well, that's just your subjectivity getting in the way. Like you said before, all my actions are human at their root, as are my motivations. And even if you pursued psychology as an undergrad, you'd need a graduate degree to qualify for a position. However, even with what training you have, I am not so difficult to decipher, and you seem to have a talent for it."

"Maybe, but I don't get why you like me. Why you'd…"

"Kill two men so savagely? Nnoitra, the impetus for my actions stemmed from a desire to protect you, but my actions themselves did not. What you saw was another side of me, a side that has already been present and always will be, regardless of your existence. A truer side you might even say. I told you I am a monster. I told you I am not human. That was merely a taste of what I am usually like. I'll do my bet to spare you from it in the future, but you would do well to remember it. Sometimes I have no rational explanation for wanting to hurt someone, only that to hurt others brings me satisfaction. I am a sadist. On occasions, I even want to hurt you."

"And yet you say you like me?"

"I do. It's a sick romance, and I myself don't understand why, but I do. I am a sadist, yes… but also a masochist. There is a twisted part of me that derives pleasure from my own psychological torture. Now, you should get back down to Hiroko before she decides to get rid of me."

"You're torturing yourself right now, aren't you?"

"I am. Didn't I tell you that you'd figure me out?"

"I still don't understand you."

"Go, Nnoitra. I need to sleep, you need to work. I'll be here awhile… you can puzzle over me later."

He left then, with a dubious backward glance, and Szayel slid gratefully beneath the covers. They were cool at first, but warmed gradually with his body heat. He didn't have a bed in his suite; Szayel did not need to sleep like normal humans did, but when he rested, he took his naps on the couch or occasionally rolled out a futon on the floor and fell asleep like that. But sleeping in a real bed was… kind of nice. The mattress was firm but had enough give to support and cradle him. The pillows were divine; soft and plentiful. He buried his face in them as he settled for lying on his side and drew the blankets up to his chin. Well… there was one good thing about being in this gigai; he could take his glasses off. Szayel placed them on the bedside table and closed his eyes, convincing himself to take a short nap. He'd be up in an hour. Coughing lightly, he drifted off to sleep.

***

Much more than an hour passed before the scientist woke. The light in the room had noticeably darkened, the sunlight no longer filtering into the room as it had earlier. His head felt cottony, like he was dehydrated, and the world seemed blurrier than usual. He sat up and looked around, slightly dazed, before he thought to reach for his glasses. Putting them on, the details of his surroundings came into focus, but his head still felt fuzzy.

At that point, Szayel noticed the plate of food and glass sitting on the table. They hadn't been there earlier. Next to them sat a note, and Szayel picked it up, unfolding it to read.

"Eat. Would've brought soup, but I didn't know when you were gonna wake up. Meds are in the bathroom if you need 'em. N."

He glanced over at the turkey sandwich and the mug of tea waiting for him, contemplating whether to eat or not. His stomach grumbled, putting an end to that deliberation. Well, that settled it. This stupid body needed to be fed. Melancholy, he snagged the sandwich and began to eat, wondering why he'd made his gigai so realistic. _Out of pride. To prove I could… but its such a troublesome thing, requiring so much maintenance. _The food tasted good though. Really good. Maybe because he was extremely hungry, but even so. It wasn't some skimpy thing on bread with a slice of cheese and some mayo; it was quality peppered turkey breast on dill bread with lettuce, arugula, tomato, onion, pickle, and a slice of bacon with pepper jack cheese melted over the top. He finished it off quickly, then reached for the tea, inhaling its fragrance before he drank. Ginger tea. He took a sip. _Sweetened with honey._ It had cooled since Nnoitra had brought it up, but the warming qualities of the ginger oil helped his congested lungs relax and the honey soothed his throat.

Szayel drank it slowly, meditating on his actions. What had happened at Shima Hot Springs had been sort of like a reset button. A rude but necessary awakening for the both of them. It had put their perceptions of each other into perspective and stripped away the illusions. How liberating, now that things were properly settled into place. That horrible feeling of uncertainty that had tailed him since he'd first met Nnoitra's reincarnation had finally left him.

Finishing the tea, he lay back down, settling his body comfortably under the covers. He wouldn't need the medicine for what he was going to do. After all, as a spirit, he was not ill. Separating from his gigai, he left it lying and descended the staircase to the café below. Nnoitra wasn't in the kitchen anymore, not that he'd expected him to be. Drifting into the customer area, he found an empty table and sat down, gauging how busy they were. Nnoitra was once again doing his waiter stint with Hiroko at the register. Szayel glanced at the clock; it read 5:15 pm. He had another forty five minutes until closing time, and another thirty before most of the evening rush subsided. The pink haired Arrancar settled in for a long wait. Surprisingly, he didn't have to. After about five minutes, Nnoitra noticed him and flashed him a smile, and at the first opportunity, motioned for him to follow him back into the kitchen when he went to go transport a stack of dirty plates.

"Hey," he said as soon as they were clear of anyone who might hear them, "How ya doin'?"

"Fine."

"Sleep well?"

"I slept longer than I'd intended. My body is… much needier than I had originally anticipated."

"Three hours, that's nothin'. I figured you'd be up around eight-ish."

"Five hours?"

"You really don't get sick, do you? When you're really sick sometimes you can sleep for twelve… twenty four hours easy. Five or six hours is pretty typical for someone whose about as sick as you. Bein' ill really drains you, more than you would expect."

"Oh. Do you… get sick very often?"

"Often enough," Nnoitra said with a grimace, "Did ya eat?"

"Yes,"

"Good. That's something else you need to do; eat well. I don't know what you eat, but I figured a sandwich would be safe."

"I eat ordinary food for your information. I'm not a savage," remarked Szayel sharply. Nnoitra grinned playfully.

"Hey, you're the one claimin' to be a monster. I'm only going along with what you've said."

"Hnn…" muttered the scientist.

"Gotta get back to the café," Nnoitra informed him, depositing his dishes by the sink, "I'll talk to you when you're visible and I'm done with work."

He swept out of the kitchen, leaving him to his own devices while he attended to the customers that demanded his attention. Szayel meanwhile was in no mood to watch him work, but neither did he feel like returning to his material body. He could find a book upstairs to read, or…_ or I could actually do something with my time._ But what was there to do in a café? Clean. Organize. Cook. _Cook._ He peeked around the corner of the kitchen, assessing the traffic in the shop. If things followed the pattern of how they'd gone the previous time, he had about twenty solid minutes before Hiroko returned. That should be enough if he worked quickly.

_I can't believe I'm going to bake something. I haven't baked since… well, a long time. Back in Las Noches. I was bored at the time and decided to see if cooking was like science. _It was. He'd been successful in his culinary experiment, though no one had dared to eat what he'd made except Starrk, who really didn't care enough to be bothered over whether or not his food was poisoned or contained something nasty. Which it hadn't. Szayel had been miffed at the thought; he'd never take such obvious measures to kill anyone. Turning on the oven, he went to fetch his ingredients.

He could do something simple and fast, but there would be no fun in that. He wanted to challenge himself. Part of the thrill he derived from experimenting came from pushing himself to do something difficult. Added to this was the pressure of completing his task within the allotted time, which was quickly dwindling. Pulling down a recipe book, Szayel decided on red velvet cake. Which wasn't really hard, but certainly more of a challenge than brownies or cookies. Especially since it used many steps, which took time, which he didn't have. This called for improvisation.

In one bowl, he sifted together the flour, salt, and cocoa powder, which he then set aside to work on the second step; beating together the butter, sugar, and eggs in another bowl. This required the use of a whisk and endurance, for he quickly grew tired of doing the same repetitive task manually. It was a relief to add the vanilla extract after three minutes of steady whisking, and then set that bowl aside too. Next came the buttermilk and red food coloring mix; he'd been relieved to find some in stock, which meant Hiroko must have made this for the shop on occasions. However, six minutes had already elapsed, and he could not afford to use the power mixer for fear of drawing attention to his activities. At this rate, he would not finish. Then it was time to try something a little unorthodox.

_Please don't blow up_ he willed as he formed a bala in his hand. It was a small sphere, very concentrated, and it pulsed lightly in his palm. Focusing on it, he made it spin, then forced it into the mix. The liquid turned red as the food coloring blended with the buttermilk much faster than he could have made it to by hand, and when he was done, he let the bala dissipate. Clean. Efficient. Entirely under his control Szayel smiled, triumphant. _Take that, recipe prep time._ Perhaps a little childish… but no one was here to see him gloat over a silly victory.

_Now I've got to mix them together._ Eight minutes had passed. He alternated adding the flour mix and the dyed mix to the creamed sugar, eggs, and butter, all the while maintaining two rotating balas to mimic the motion of an electrical blender, only this blender was attuned perfectly to his will and he could push it as fast as it could go without causing the batter to fly out of the bowl. _Ten minutes._ He mixed the vinegar and baking soda together, waiting impatiently for the concoction to fizz long enough before folding it into the batter and mixing. _Eleven and a half minutes._ He poured the mix into a greased pan and set it in the oven. _Twelve minutes._ He was going to make it. All he needed to do now was the icing. _But the final step takes the longest._

Shaking his head, he dumped his dirty dishes in the sink and dragged out a fresh bowl. _Mix the cream cheese and marscapone until smooth. Right. I can use bala for that too… but will it work for beating the icing into peaks when I add the vanilla and confectioner's sugar?_ No time to wonder; fourteen minutes had elapsed. He added the two ingredients along with a sprinkling of espresso powder and ginger and began mixing. His anxiety rose when after four minutes, the icing still hadn't formed peaks, but on the fifth, he met with success. With a sigh of relief, he folded the whipped cream into the heavy concoction, gave it another twist, and set the icing in the fridge to settle. Just in time too; he scampered up the stairs as Hiroko walked in. _Twenty minutes exactly; I could have stood to finish earlier, but no harm done._

"Takeda!" she called, "Were you doing something in here?"

Szayel didn't hear his reply, but he could imagine what it would be as he slipped back into his gigai. _What? No, I've been servin' the customers._ Time to explain himself, now that he actually could. Sitting up, he pulled his shoes on and made his way back downstairs. Hiroko was examining the dirty bowls in the sink when she saw him.

"Are you responsible for this?" she asked, pointing to the dishes and then the pan baking in the oven.

"Yes," he replied, "Forgive me if I caused any trouble, but I woke up half an hour ago and was bored."

"Didn't hear anything from the kitchen," she remarked.

"I'm rather discreet when I want to be," he offered with a pert smile, then groaned as his nose ran and tugged a tissue out of his pocket to blow it. Being back in his sickly human body sucked. "Don't worry," he muttered as he tossed the tissue into the trash, "I didn't breathe on the icing."

"Hah. That's the least of your troubles. I suggest you clean up your mess while you wait for the cake to rise; those dishes won't do themselves."

"Even the ones I didn't make?"

"You got something better to do with your time?"

"No," he conceded as he walked over to the sink, "I am… unused to taking orders from anyone."

"Stick around, kid. There's plenty more of that if you do," she remarked cheerfully.

"Delightful," he murmured, but he didn't mind. There was no arrogance or superiority in her tone, and if anything, it was a display of her particular brand of humor. She didn't seek to demean him; this was her way treating those she knew personally. The reality beneath her respectful demeanor towards customers. A sign of acknowledgement that she dropped such pretenses around him. Still, seeing Nnoitra's expression of disbelief when he wandered in fifteen minutes later made it all worthwhile anyhow. He was just shutting off the water and placing the last dish on the rack to dry when Nnoitra appeared at the entrance to the kitchen, carrying an armful of empty dishes.

"I finished closing up the shop Hiroko-san and-" he paused, noticing Szayel, and his eyes widened. "What the hell are you doing?"

Szayel flicked water at him, then dried his hands on a towel.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he asked wryly.

"You have him doing dishes? _Him?_"

"And he does them just fine," was Hiroko's response, "So shut up and wash the ones you have there."

Nnoitra quickly cleaned the plates and smattering of cups and silverware he'd brought back to the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder every so often to look at Szayel who sat patiently in his chair, watching the cake bake. As soon as it seemed ready, he was next to the oven, opening the door and reaching in with nimble hands to pull out his confection. Hiroko drifted over to examine it.

"Looks edible," she remarked approvingly, "See if it's done."

He poked a fork into it, and the prongs came out clean.

"Seems done," he said, hunted for a knife. When he found one, he tilted the cake out of its pan and onto a plate, then cut it into three layers and arranged them so that they would cool faster. While he waited, he dragged the bowl of icing out of the fridge and set it on the counter to warm up. Nnoitra finished his last plate, shut off the tap, and wiped his hands on his apron before striding over to him.

"You bake?" he asked, eyeing the cake incredulously.

"On occasion. When I feel like it," Szayel replied.

"And when was the last time you baked?"

"Years," he said. _Decades,_ he thought. _Longer than you've been alive._

"What the hell! That's not fair! You're rich and powerful and smart and gorgeous and… you're supposed to be useless! You aren't supposed to be so…"

"Domestic?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed. Szayel smirked.

"Sorry to disappoint. I know you're jealous I can cook and you can't."

"You're so damn feminine! That's why you can cook," he said disgustedly.

"I can sew and embroider too," offered the scientist.

"Takeda!" barked Hiroko, not taking kindly to his statement.

"Fuck!" yelled Nnoitra, throwing up his hands in despair and dropping the topic with a scowl. A moment later, he looked over sheepishly, a question in his eyes. "Can you really sew too?" he asked cautiously.

"I _make_ things Nnoitra. I am an inventor, so I have a repertoire of skills. What I design, I not always but frequently build myself, and if it's something big, then I'll make a small working model. I am also a scientist, remember. What I sewed… were not clothes or quilts, but a more delicate 'fabric.'"

Nnoitra understood, and had the grace to look apologetic. Sewing up bodies was not exactly a feminine occupation after all. He flashed the lanky man a teasing smile, then added, "Though I did make dolls as a hobby." Never mind what sort of dolls they were.

"That's it. I'm done trying to figure you out," Nnoitra groaned, shaking his head.

"A wise decision if you value your sanity," was Szayel's lighthearted reply as he stuck a spoon into the icing and began to spread it over the cake. When he finished the top, he fetched the block of semi sweet chocolate he'd spotted earlier and a container of powdered cinnamon, which he shook over the top. He then proceeded to shave a few curls of chocolate and arrange them around the rim and center of the cake so that they formed the petals of a chrysanthemum.

"Perfect," he announced when he'd finished, then winced. "Almost perfect," he amended in a murmur. Nnoitra walked over to examine it.

"Looks pretty damn perfect to me," he remarked with envy.

"Its not. Trust me. I merely have an eye for aesthetics," said Szayel.

"Well it doesn't matter if its perfect or not so long as it tastes good," commented Hiroko, putting an end to the discussion as she picked up the knife and divided it into twelve equal segments and took one of these slices for herself. Nnoitra served himself another, though Szayel refused to eat one himself until the others had tasted it. Hiroko took the first bite.

"Takeda, why can't you bake like this?" was all she said. Nnoitra frowned and tried his piece. The frown promptly faded.

"Because he's just a freak who is way more talented than anyone has any right to be."

"Baking doesn't take talent, Nnoitra. Just follow the recipe," Szayel remarked neutrally, serving himself a slice. The bright red of the cake appealed to him, and as he took a bite, he appreciated the rich taste of it and the mild chocolate flavor. Decadence, and so simple to achieve. Baking was definitely a gratifying pastime, especially when he was not the only one enjoying his cooking.

"That's what I tell him, but somehow he still manages to screw up," muttered Hiroko dryly as she stood and deposited her empty plate next to the sink. "Now, I've got to go and make a few calls, so I'll be upstairs. Yell if you need anything."

She disappeared up the steps, leaving them alone in the kitchen. Nnoitra finished his slice of cake shortly after and went to claim the chair Hiroko had vacated. The black haired man watched him while he worked on his own piece, and Szayel found the silence a little disconcerting. Noticing his discomfort, Nnoitra spoke up.

"Your hair is still mussed from sleeping," he observed.

"Is it now…" Szayel said for the sake of saying something back.

"Yeah. All messy. Not perfectly in order like usual. Its kind of amusing, like a face you don't show people. You're always so careful to be neat."

"Mmhmm. Don't get used to seeing me like this."

"What a shame. I'll make sure to remember it then, along with your sleeping face."

Szayel looked over at him sharply, letting his fork clink against the ceramic as he startled. Though he swiftly recovered, there was no denying that for a moment, he'd been caught off guard.

"That's really creepy you know. To watch someone while they sleep?" he said severely. Nnoitra smiled.

"I wasn't watching you. I came upstairs to bring you a sandwich and tea, and you happened to be fast asleep. So I took the opportunity to analyze your sleeping face."

"And did you discover anything?"

"Yes and no," was his ambiguous reply, "I guess I was expecting something different."

"Enlighten me?" Szayel prompted at his vagueness, and Nnoitra looked thoughtful.

"Well," he finally hedged, "You weren't troubled, like you were haunted by somethin', but you weren't angelic and carefree either. I guess you looked… tired. Sick. A little vulnerable and a little sweet. You've got a surprisingly sweet face when you sleep. So ordinary. Looking at you, it was hard to match the face to the actions. But I guess even murderers look peaceful when they sleep."

"Still stewing over that?"

"Yeah. How couldn't I? But I'm coping. Especially after you go and do something like this."

"It doesn't unnerve you to eat what I make?"

"Nah. You could off me so much more easily if you wanted to."

Szayel laughed, though at the expense of his lungs which promptly seized up and spurred another coughing fit. When he finished spitting up clods of phlegm, which he spat out into another tissue, he explained himself to his curious onlooker.

"I'm sorry, its just that I tried explaining that to the other Espada so many times and hardly any of them would ever trust me enough to eat something that I made. Can't say I blame them."

"Not even me?"

"Especially not you. You may have been a moron, but you weren't completely stupid or lacking in common sense either."

"Oh. Well for what its worth, I liked your cake."

"Consider it a thank you for the tea and sandwich, though I also made it to mollify Hiroko somewhat. Now, I should probably be headed home. No use in lingering here anymore."

"I'll walk you back?" he offered. Szayel shook his head.

"Not today, Nnoitra. Your pandering is dully noted. Offer again when you're serious and not just trying to win points with me."

"Then I'll call you in a few days, when you're doing better. Check in on ya."

Szayel sighed and stood, heading for the door.

"Your artificial chivalry rather grates on my nerves. I deal with enough false politeness at work without having to put up with yours during my spare time."

"Then move to a different country. Japan's the last place you want to be."

"Don't remind me," he murmured, pushing open the door. It was around six thirty, for the sky was beginning to darken as the sun sank lower on the horizon. Mercifully, the temperature had also dropped, and the residual heat wafting up from the pavement was warm enough to be comfortable. He took a step forward, however, just before he could walk out, he felt Nnoitra's arms circle him from behind and draw him to him. The taller man nestled his chin in Szayel's hair and kissed the pink tufts tenderly.

"Get better soon so I can kiss you properly," he said in teasing tones. Szayel scowled and elbowed him hard in the ribs, causing him to let go of the feisty scientist with a muffled gasp and a grimace.

"You can find yourself a slut in someone else," he informed the lanky human with dignity before turning his back on him again and walking off, but inside he smiled. _That's more like the Nnoitra I know. A slimy perverted bastard, but an honest one at least. That is, honest about his intentions._

_… I really need to work on picking better relationships…_ Groaning, he began the long trek home through the darkening streets. Sleep sounded pretty good again.

* * *

**Author's Comments:**

Ok, so I'm not really happy with this chapter. Starting with the logical reasons you can (probably) understand:

I think events move a little too quickly. Don't like quite how the dialogue moves... blah. I dunno. T~T I've given up on keeping "Nnoitra" in character, because I've come to realize that he's his own person and no matter what I wish, he will continue to be his own person and develop in new ways. So whatever he becomes is what he is. I don't write the characters; the characters write themselves. This has always been true in my writing.

This story has moved beyond what I originally envisioned it to be. Every time I write, I surprise myself with what ways the plot twists and turns until it is unrecognizable. The only thing I know for sure anymore is how it will end. So it may meander and frustrate me and delight me, but it will end up at the same place, and perhaps it will be better for the journey. Or perhaps it will just be crap.

Alright, enough musing on my inability to keep a straight storyline. You aren't reading this to hear me whine or philosophize. ^^ The point I'm trying to get across is, I don't know what the hell I'll end up writing next. So I'll focus on what I'm uploading NOW.

Its really the fact this chapter is so... sweet that bugs me in the end. I wrote this as a reaction chapter to Taste, but I feel the reaction is still kind of delayed. That there wasn't truly a cathartic reaction. That somehow it was all accepted too easily, and knowing me, some of the angst from Taste will probably resurface later. I don't think the wounds end here. Its just a lull... Fluffy. Light. Tiptoeing around the truth. Maybe this is just me, not used to writing cuteness, and my insecurity is unwarranted. Why am I telling you this? I'm supposed to know what the hell I'm doing, not telling you I don't. xD Ah... whatever. See you in the next chapter. You get moar fluff. ;P Then... we'll see...

Comment/review please? If you like this even slightly. :3 It often means the difference between a really sucky day and really great one to me. Plus I just like to hear my reader's thoughts on stuff. :D


	11. Trust

True to his word, he called.

Szayel anticipated it, wondering when it would come. Amid the haze of illness, he waited, silently willing his body to recover. He wasn't hanging on a thread for it; he wasn't _that_ desperate or pathetic, but it gave him something to look forward to, so of _course_ it occupied his thoughts. He found respite only in the heavy, dreamless sleep his sickness induced, but as he began to improve, it became lighter and more fitful. He started to dream again; flashes of memory that left him feeling strangely empty once he woke and forgot them. And he did forget them all, for as vivid as they were in his mind while he dreamed, they fled like so many ghosts upon waking.

The night he had returned from the café, he'd developed a fever that had peaked around dawn of the following day. After it broke, a general malaise had settled over him, aggravated by his cough and constant runny nose. However, he fought back by boosting his body's immune system with supplements and by doing little other than read, sleep, and rouse himself to eat or drink every so often. Living, he learned, was a very tiresome process to someone unused to such maintenance. But at least it was something to do, and it gave him an excuse to skip his meeting. Calling in sick was such a delightfully ordinary excuse, thought it did cause a bit of a stir as he'd never done so before in his life. And after a few days of this regimen of drugs and rest, he was just about over his ordeal. The only thing keeping his gigai from full recovery was a weakness in his limbs that persisted beyond his illness and a tendency to become quickly fatigued. Unfortunate lingering reminders, but at least he had shaken the virus itself. So when the chip beeped, he answered. Nnoitra's voice came through on the line, accompanied by his typical grin.

"Hey, you're lookin' a lot better pink haired freak," was his first comment off the bat.

"Thank you for that keen observation. I hadn't noticed," Szayel replied dryly.

"No problem," said Nnoitra generously, "Anyways, you up for going somewhere today?"

"Where would we be going?"

"Somewhere fun."

"Fun for you or fun for me?"

"Fun for both! God, stop interrogating me and get your pale ass down to the café ASAP, ok?"

"Excuse me for wanting to know where we're going given what happened the last time," remarked Szayel sardonically. Nnoitra frowned slightly, then gave in, looking a little upset.

"Fine. How about a compromise? Come down to the café and I'll tell you where we're going. Then if you don't want to go, you can have the pleasure of walking out on me. I wanted to surprise you though."

Oh. That sounded so… reasonable. Szayel hesitated over this unexpected offer; he'd assumed he'd have to argue with him for much longer and still not make any progress in the end, but Nnoitra was willing to let him have his way so easily. Perhaps it was his way of starting things off again smoothly? He'd been so pushy before. Maybe he really was trying to make amends.

"Szayel? You spacin'?"

Szayel shook his head, bringing his thoughts back to the present.

"Yes, that is acceptable," he replied.

"Excellent. See you soon then. Oh, one last thing."

"What?"

"You probably shouldn't wear white, And dress for the weather; its gonna be hot again today."

"Nnoitra-!"

The line cut off before he could demand to know why he shouldn't wear white and he groaned. Stupid Nnoitra, dropping hints like that and then expecting him to just accept them. Of course, he could imagine why he should avoid the color. White fabric especially had the annoying quality of becoming transparent when wet. Wherever they were going, there was water. He didn't know whether it was kind or cruel that he'd warned him.

_Dress for the weather; its gonna be hot… a nice way of saying to show skin like the last time. But what the hell… I don't want to suffocate under heavy layers either, and god forbid I get heatstroke and pass out in front of him. I'll humor him for today. _That, and he'd found showing skin wasn't so bad. Odd at first perhaps, but he got used to it. And, well… Nnoitra had seen him completely naked, so modesty wasn't exactly an issue. _But what should I wear?_ Better see what he could find first; his "summer" wardrobe wasn't nearly as extensive as his "winter" clothes, and to be honest, he didn't really keep track of what lighter garments he possessed. Filtering through the neglected side of his walk in closet, he was stunned to discover its contents.

_I… I didn't stock these. What in the world?_ Picking up what appeared to be a slinky hot pink tube top, he felt his cheeks burn with irritation. He _definitely_ hadn't stocked this, but he knew of only two who could have done this; Lumina and Verona. _I did not give those two senses of humor. They must have developed theirs on their own time. Ugh… an unanticipated consequence of giving them more developed intelligence and personalities. They probably figured I'd never find these clothes. I ought to have a word with them later…_ Shaking his head in disbelief, he nearly shrieked when he found the stiletto pumps and cocktail dress a minute later. Oh yes, he'd most certainly have a word with those two, especially since it seemed about ninety percent of the additions to this particular part of his wardrobe had been their contributions, hidden behind a thinly veiled front of his own remaining ten percent. And those weren't many. Not many at all. Just a handful of clothes.

Szayel settled for trying to find something reasonable rather than his style, doing his best to ignore the flush that crept across his face whenever he found another of their hidden jests. Like the lolita dress, or the fishnets, or the skirt that looked suspiciously like his Resurreccion's release, or the… _Oh my god I'm going to kill those two in the most painful way imaginable!_ Szayel fumed and turned an extraordinary shade of pink that rivaled his hair color as he handled the matching scarlet and black lacy lingerie he'd uncovered. Tossing them aside, he retreated to safer parts, knowing the further he dug, the more likely he was to encounter something particularly scarring.

It was a measure of how desensitized he'd become by the time he quitted his closet, wearing a slightly disoriented expression on his face. He sported a pair of sensible but stylish tennis shoes in the case that they needed to walk for a while, and close fitting khaki shorts that reached to about mid thigh. And then there was his shirt. Which could have been worse. So much worse. He could have been wearing the pink tube top for example, or something even more embarrassing. Or at least that was what he kept telling himself. As it was, he wore a soft silvery-gray halter top that was looser fitting than most of his shirts. It was a nice material with a decent design, and the ties around the throat had turquoise beads, which settled against the back of his neck with a comforting weight. If only it didn't leave him feeling so bare…

No time to regret his choice now; he had to get going. He was expected "ASAP" after all, and he'd spent far too much time already dithering over the humiliating prank his Fraccion had played on him god knew how long ago. From the extent of the damage, it had been happening over a long period of time.

Nnoitra was loitering at one of the café tables when he arrived, and as soon as the black haired man caught sight of him walking up the avenue, he waved at him through the shop windows. He didn't bother to come out and greet him, however, so Szayel entered the café and walked over to him, pulling up a chair across from him and sitting down. He folded his hands in front of him, looking up at Nnoitra expectantly, and Nnoitra smiled.

"You smell good again today. Like peaches. It really stands out against the smell of coffee here in the café," he said lightly.

"I took a shower last night."

"Must be a nice shower."

"It is. I designed it myself."

"You design a lot of stuff, huh?"

"Of course. Its what I do for a living."

"Did you design your clothes too?"

"No," Szayel said, brushing at them self consciously.

"Mmm… I like them though. They're appropriate for where we're going today," Nnoitra mused. Szayel rapped his nails with mild frustration against the table top, stretching out his carefully folded hands as he grew impatient.

"And where would that be?" he inquired. Nnoitra sighed.

"Not gonna trust me and leave it a surprise? It'll be more fun that way."

"Let me tell you right now I am not someone who likes surprises. I am not a spontaneous person. I like to know exactly how every detail will turn out in advance. A surprise means I was not aware of some piece of information, which then in turn made me vulnerable, and I do not enjoy feeling vulnerable Nnoitra."

Nnoitra gave him a dubious look, clearly thinking he was strange.

"Don't you drive yourself crazy thinking about all that? Don't you get incredibly bored? If everything becomes predictable… if everything is reduced to a formula or calculation, then you've got nothing to jolt you out of tedium. It's the surprises, the things you can't predict that make life worth living. It'd find that kind of life impossible. Better to take the shit the universe deals you along with the good than languish experiencing nothing new at all."

For being phrased so crudely, his words were remarkably insightful, and Szayel was hit with a pang of regret upon hearing his existence summarized so carelessly in the space of a few seconds. His casual statement was more accurate than he would ever know; brutal in its ignorance and simplicity. For a moment, he almost told him to keep their destination a secret, and in that, step outside his comfort zone. For a moment, he wanted to trust and to be led; to let the universe surprise him for better or for worse. But then that moment passed and he knew he could not escape his true nature, not that day anyways. So looking him straight in the eye, he replied very seriously.

"I do not like surprises; tell me where we are going."

Nnoitra sighed again.

"I've said it before and I'll say it another time; relax. You need to loosen up. Today isn't so much about relaxin' as learning ta let go though, and its also sort of on icebreaker I guess. We're going to an amusement park."

Szayel stared.

"An amusement park?" he echoed.

"Yep," said Nnoitra.

"Why?"

"Because its fun, stupid."

"Its… fun…"

Nnoitra shot him a look of disbelief.

"Don't tell me you've never been to one. You have, haven't you?"

"Well, I know the mechanics behind them…" muttered Szayel, adjusting his glasses as he glanced away.

"You haven't? What the hell! Everyone goes to an amusement park at least once!" he exclaimed.

"That's not true," Szayel countered quickly, "And anyways, I've never had the time or patience for such frivolity."

"Frivolity my ass! Now you're definitely coming with me. No choice. This is mandatory."

"Mandatory fun… That sounds like an oxymoron to me."

"You're an oxymoron. Good thing you wore decent shoes, 'cause we're gonna be spending more than just a couple of hours there."

"I can hardly contain my excitement," Szayel murmured.

"So lets go."

He stood up and stretched, then walked over to the door and opened it for him. Szayel walked on through, pausing to wait for him to catch up, and they both settled into a steady pace side by side. Nnoitra brought them to a small station, much like a bus stop, where the light rail of Karakura City ran through. Their timing was such that, after only about five minutes, the train arrived, coming to a smooth halt in front of them. The doors opened and a handful of people stepped off. Nnoitra tugged him onboard after him before they slid shut again. Szayel glanced around the interior. The area where they stood was flat and spacious, designed to accommodate foot traffic from passengers exiting and entering. Further back were arranged several rows of seats, and these were mostly filled. Rather than sit down, Szayel held onto the pole in the center of the car and stood for the duration of the trip. Nnoitra stood across from him, gripping the same pole though higher up, making Szayel conscious of their height difference.

The train sped along smoothly, winding through the districts of Karakura City, and he watched with mild interest as they flashed by. He hadn't really watched the city grow, and coming out into the lively throng of human activity was a little disorienting, much like when he'd first arrived on Earth. Though Nnoitra hadn't specified which amusement park they were going to, Szayel knew where they were headed. As a metropolis, Karakura boasted its own theme park, and it was another well frequented attraction. Efficient as the transportation system was, it took them no longer than ten minutes to get there.

Nnoitra was in motion as soon as the light train drew up to the park stop, and Szayel followed after him, trying to keep up with his long stride. He was angling for the entrance, eager to pay and get in. Figuring if he'd paid the last time he would be expected to pay again this time, Szayel had his card ready, letting his spiritual energy seep into it and disarm the locks on the system. The man at the front looked incredibly bored as they approached and did not bother trying to sound remotely interested in how they were doing.

"What'll it be?" he asked unenthusiastically.

"Two full admission day passes," replied Nnoitra, equally curt.

"Card?" he grunted.

Szayel passed him the card, which he scanned without ado. Passing it back, he waved them through the gate.

"The passes will scan as a temporary file to your chips which will be automatically erased in twelve hours. Make sure you wait under the arch until your comChips beep. Enjoy your day. Next."

"I had no idea my comChips were so ubiquitous," Szayel said as they stood under the gate. The chips sounded, and a moment later they were walking into the amusement park.

"If you don't have one then they give you a wristband, but yeah… that's pretty rare nowadays. Almost everyone's got a chip."

"Hah. Fools."

Nnoitra glanced down at him, looking puzzled.

"The hell's that supposed to mean?"

"Just what I said."

"And why would that be?"

"Because you're all so obedient, chipping yourselves like dogs. Every phone call you've ever received, every place you've ever been… its all collected you know. All that information can be accessed."

"No it can't. The system's unhackable, and even the government doesn't have access to that kind of information. Its totally private."

"Is it?" Szayel asked quietly. Something changed in Nnoitra's face. It paled slightly, and his eyes narrowed. He looked sidelong at the scientist, frowning, then stopped walking.

"You designed them. Are you saying what I think you are?"

"If what you're thinking is that I know how to hack the database, then yes."

"Shit," he breathed, all color leaving his face.

"Its rudimentary, Nnoitra. Never assume your information is completely safe. I looked you up for example, to find where you were that day."

"Shit," he repeated brokenly.

"However, I rarely abuse this ability since I really couldn't care less about you humans. The system itself is very secure. I can think of only two others capable of hacking it, and of the two, only one who might. And then, even he would only use it to a limited extent. He's in the black market business himself, so you have little to fear from him. What I'm saying in the end is, don't be so naively trusting."

"You're damn creepy, you know that?" Nnoitra asked.

"I've been told as much," Szayel replied with a smile, "And I've been called worse."

"I believe it. Come on; we're going on a ride."

He led him over to a peculiar attraction with a considerable line, but Nnoitra didn't seem to mind. Apparently, whatever it was was worth the wait. The other people waiting seemed to think so anyways. As he watched, two people stepped forwards to take their turns. They were lead up to a platform where two, enormous kites waited. The ride operator strapped them into the complicated harness system, then returned to his post. Toughing a switch, the kites folded so that they lay flat and tight against the riders' backs. They were connected at the base to what looked like a massive harpoon, or at least the barrel of one. At the operator's prompting, the riders bent their knees slightly and took in deep breaths. They looked nervous but giddy, as if anticipating what was to come. Flipping another switch, the operator sent them flying.

Literally. The kites and their riders shot into the air like javelins, cords straining after them like silver snakes. At the highest point of their launch, they began to fall Earthward again, but at that moment, the kites snapped open, flaring like vibrant wings behind them. They dipped and rose on the natural upward draft, streaming high into the sky. Their only link to the ground lay in the tethers that connected them to the ride, and even this seemed so tenuous from their height. They hovered above all of them, defying human limitations and rejoicing in the heady thrill of soaring through the azure sky. Free, or close to it.

Szayel knew he was staring, knew Nnoitra was watching him stare, but he could not pull his eyes away from the airborne pair. He could use Sonido to hover, and his Resurreccion had wings. But his wings would not carry him in flight and Sonido could only be controlled to a certain extent. He could not fly. For all his abilities, that was one sphere that eluded him. It eluded them all, except for a scant few. Like Ulquiorra; he'd been able to fly. And that one short Captain with the frosty temperament; his Bankai gave him gelid wings.

"Pretty cool, huh? They've got several of these rides sprinkled around the park since they're so popular. If you look around, you can see some of the others. Only thing is, you have to be completely healthy to ride them 'cause they're pretty high impact, or at least the launch is."

Nnoitra leaned in to inform him as he tracked the progress of the riders. He nodded absentmindedly in reply as Nnoitra grinned. Of course they were "cool"; they'd been a special project of his several years back, but one he never expected to experience. Looking around the blue dome of the sky, he did indeed spot a few other kites, fluttering high in the air like gaudy birds or butterflies. They sold well, and had been fun to design… but to actually ride one now…

"You can manipulate them more than that," he murmured to Nnoitra without taking his eyes off the kites, which drifted gently on the ends of their tethers. His voice held a note of scorn.

"Yeah, but only the real experienced riders do that. You have to have taken lessons and get a special license; they don't want people fooling around with the equipment and causing a lawsuit."

"Hmm…"

The riders were reeled in, the wings shaping to form a parachute so that they could be lowered safely. When they landed, the platform was prepped and the next pair were brought up and strapped in before being shot into the air. He watched as this procedure was repeated several times until finally it was their turn. The operator briefed them as they stepped up.

"No heart, lung, spinal, neural, etc. or otherwise potentially debilitating condition that could result in serious death or injury while on this ride?" he asked.

"Nope," Nnoitra answered for the both of them.

"Alright. Step up to the platform and I'll strap you both in momentarily. Make sure to bend your knees slightly to cushion the impact of the launch and keep your arms at your sides once the kite is folded."

Nnoitra was harnessed first, and he flashed him an easygoing grin as he glanced across the platform at him. The man came over to him next and began strapping his body to the framework. It was an elaborate system and might have taken awhile, but he had obviously been doing this for a long time. His movements were deft and practiced, only taking him about a minute to hook him up. Then he was retreating from the platform and pressing the first switch. The kite wings folded against his back, though his neck remained supported by the brace attached to the main frame. The incredible force exerted on his neck otherwise would put stress on the bones and possibly cause him damage. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and waited for the launch.

It came with a sickening jolt as he was shot into the air. The wind roared in his ears and dragged at his skin, resisting his defiance of gravity. The pressure on his body was intense, and his lungs felt like he was breathing liquid. He was forced to let out some of the breath he had drawn… Then the kite membrane snapped open and the world fell away beneath him as he soared into the sky. He experienced a dizzying feeling of inertia as the draft carried him higher, but after a minute he reached the end of his tether and stabilized, floating gently. Szayel opened his eyes and took an awed breath.

The world was so small beneath him, so distant. He felt removed from civilization, and not just isolated, but liberated. Powerful. Free. The feeling was exhilarating. At the same time, he was aware of just how incredibly delicate his position was. He was fragile at this height. No one could help him if he made a mistake. But that was how he'd always been; alone. He'd worked alone even when he lived in Las Noches. His successes were achieved by his own efforts, his failures stemmed from his own shortcomings or mistakes. Even the head of a corporation, he stilled worked alone, issuing quiet orders from his shadowy subterranean suite. He'd much rather face the fragility of his solitary existence than entrust his future to others, who were unknown quantities. He did not trust others. Yet…

Szayel glanced over at Nnoitra who hovered along with him in this same position. His face was exultant; he was enjoying this. Nnoitra, who'd brought him here. _Mandatory fun, huh?_ Szayel laughed, and for the first time in a long while his laugh was not contemptuous or sardonic, but open. He laughed at the wonder of it. _With Nnoitra, I'm not alone. The trouble is, I've already entrusted a piece of my future to him whether I meant to or not. Until this infatuation ends, my days are irrevocably his._

The thought freed something in him, and for an instant, he was not merely content to hang in the sky at the end of a rope. He wanted to fly, or at least to come as close to flying as he could. Szayel flexed his muscles, concentrating, then angled the wing of his kite over a fraction. It followed his lead, dipping sideways. He repeated this motion on the other side and the kite floated back, stabilizing. The control was good; the kite responded to his movements readily and required minimal handling, just as he'd designed them. And he'd designed them to do more than just that. With a smile verging on madness, Szayel plotted his next move. Nnoitra caught this fey expression and sent him a questioning look right before he folded the wings to his back. His look became one of shock. Szayel plummeted…

… and soared, climbing dramatically as he snapped the wings back open, performing a barrel roll. His stomach twisted as he spun in a dizzying display of acrobatic skill, but it wasn't skill really. It was science. Math; precise calculations and a comprehensive knowledge of aerodynamics. All theorems and proofs on paper… until now, when he fleshed out his theoretical calculations and applied them to practice. They worked beautifully, and he zigzagged through the air at stomach-turning speeds until it came time to descend.

Returning to Earth and feeling the unchanging solidity of it was anticlimactic. He did not want to stop flying. He wanted to stay there for hours, living off the sweet thrill of escaping his duties and limitations. To walk again among everyone else seemed a cruel prospect, and he consigned himself to it as he unhooked himself. Nnoitra confronted him as soon as they were down.

"What the fuck was that?"

The ride operator seemed to be of the same opinion, though cleaner spoken, for he hurried over to him with a frustrated look.

"Sir, if you have a license please notify us prior to flying. There are certain procedures we are required to follow, regardless of your expertise. We have to clear these flights beforehand."

"My apologies; it was an impulse decision that will not happen again."

"Please see that it doesn't."

The man returned to his post, shepherding the next pair onto the ride who seemed awed by his display. Nnoitra looked at him expectantly.

"You have a license? I thought you've never ridden this before," he said.

"I don't and I haven't," replied Szayel, "But I know this ride better than most 'experienced' flyers. Down to the last screw you might say."

Nnoitra understood then, and he rolled his eyes.

"Well god damn… what the hell haven't you designed?"

"I am the Inventor. My influence is vast."

"No kidding. This isn't gonna be any fun if you already know how everything works."

"That… isn't strictly true. Just because I know the mechanics behind these rides does not mean I cannot enjoy them. In fact, my knowledge of the kites enhanced my experience."

"So you are having fun?"

"Yes."

Nnoitra grinned, triumphant, and dragged him over to the next ride.

"Told ya."

"Don't gloat. After that one, anything else will be boring."

"Nah, I'm pretty sure we can find somethin' good."

"Like?"

"This."

He stopped in front of a ride with a lengthy line, but this did not seem to trouble him and Szayel soon understood why. The ride itself seated many, so the wait was negligible, and he knew that the time it took to run its course wasn't very long. They took their places at the back and waited, watching the riders speed along the rails, a silver blur. After a minute or two, the streamlined vehicle drew up to the platform with a soft whir, and a stream of parkgoers exited, dispersing to other parts. The line filled quickly onto the platform, eager to board, but when it came to their turn, Nnoitra held him back, allowing the couple behind them to go ahead and claim the lat seats. Szayel glanced up at the black haired man dubiously.

"Why let them go?" he asked as the ride took off, gaining speed as it slid out of the platform. Within a few seconds, it was hurtling over the tracks, reflecting the sunlight off its smooth metallic casing.

"Because next time, we'll get to choose ours spots instead of making do with what's left to us," he replied, bemused, "That seems important to ya; control."

"You two," Szayel remarked flatly, and Nnoitra smiled.

"Maybe," he conceded, ruffling his hair, and Szayel batted his hand away with a faint scowl.

"Don't be condescending," the scientist huffed.

"Don't be so defensive," Nnoitra countered.

A roar filled their ears as the roller coaster flew past, ascending the track with extraordinary speed, and they both had to pause in their arguing to acknowledge its passing. Except for the sound it generated from friction with the air around it, the ride was eerily silent, ghosting over the tracks. Not like the old versions.

"And I suppose you designed this too?" Nnoitra asked as he watched it race through the metal jungle of twists and arching loops. Szayel shook his head.

"I didn't need to. Much as I disparage humanity, it has its own brilliant minds. Many more than what few appear, for brilliance is all too easily passed over due to circumstance or smothered by those in power. I would know; I've destroyed a few myself."

"Amazing. You can make a concession sometimes."

"I'm not unreasonable," he said, flipping an errant lock of hair out of his face, "But in any case, the idea behind this one is exceedingly simple. It is essentially a magnet train adapted to a roller coaster; the most ingenious thing about it is not the concept but the engineering. To make it hover above the tracks while not traveling across a level plane, and all the while maintaining the safety… that isn't an easy task. However, once one surmounts the challenges posed by its design, it becomes an impressive piece of work. Faster and smoother than a traditional roller coaster… its another ride that makes you feel as though you could fly."

The coaster slid up to the platform, having completed its voyage, and its slew of passengers filed out looking flushed and windblown. Nnoitra led him to the very front as soon as they were permitted past the gate.

"Best seats," he proclaimed as he eyed them proprietarily, "Up front, your view ain't blocked and you feel like you're the only ones on the ride. Because of how fast it goes, you can't hear the people behind ya."

Nnoitra clambered into the ride, folding his long legs a little awkwardly as he settled himself into his seat. He was much taller than the average rider, which made fitting somewhat of a challenge, but he managed it with as much grace as was possible for someone of his height; it was apparent that he'd done this many times. Climbing in after him a little amused, Szayel secured his own seat and waited for the ride to begin.

The restraints clicked in with a pneumatic hiss; more comforting than necessary. But the hiss was traditional and generally gave the riders a sense of security on these seemingly dangerous rides. Thrill rides they were called, but really a cheap source of adrenaline without the danger. No one really wanted that; they wanted to simulate the risk of death without any of the potential to actually die. Except maybe a few he could think of… but they were either not sane or not human. Or both. And all were dead, to him at least. Who knew where now in the reincarnation cycle they dwelt?

"Ready?" Nnoitra asked him, a devious smile on his lips. He nodded and was about to speak when the coaster started up, prompting him to remain silent. Its speed was slow at first, but it quickly gained as they progressed and traveled up an incline, something that seemed very odd to him. Picking up speed on a slope? He stared at the tracks ahead, trying to make sense of this oddness. _It's so strange… climbing so quickly. That must mean that once we head downhill the speed will be…_ His eyes widened a little at this revelation, and he turned to look at his companion. The man looked positively gleeful. Szayel swallowed a knot of apprehension.

"Nnoitra-" he managed to say, then his voice cut off as he was plunged into a sickening drop. His vision blurred and his stomach twisted with nausea as the roller coaster tore along with incredible speed, and the scientist was very grateful he hadn't eaten yet. It was possibly one of the worst things he'd ever experienced in his life, but just one. Another followed promptly.

If nausea assailed him during that fall, then vertigo rendered him senseless when the ride reached one of its loops. He knew it was coming, dreaded it, but when it flipped him upside down it was all he could do not to close his eyes and shriek. The coaster turned him so that he was vertical to the ground, staring up at the sky as the sun flashed in his eyes. Everywhere was blue, all around, and the world nothing more than an incomprehensible blur that tumbled end over end. By the time he made it through the third consecutive loop, he could no longer tell which way was up and which was down. Nor did it send there. Even after they escaped the loops, a hellish track remained. It corkscrewed and wove an erratic path through a wonderland of twisted steel girders. The brain child of a truly sadistic and demented genius.

When the coaster finally began to slow and reached the docking point, Szayel could only gaze blankly into the space in front of him. Nnoitra unhooked himself, took one look at the shell-shocked man, and smirked. He managed to compose his face into something less potentially aggravating while he helped him out, not that Szayel would have noticed. He was beyond disoriented, and Nnoitra's expression was a very distant concern. The instant his feet touched the ground with no support, his knees gave out and he clutched at Nnoitra, managing not to fall entirely. Even when he regained some of his balance, he still held on to the taller man, leaning on him heavily, face extremely pallid. Only after Nnoitra put an arm around his shoulder as they walked did he speak up, and his voice was faint and shaky.

"Don't… take me on that again. Ever. Please."

Nnoitra gave his shoulders a comforting squeeze, but he was smirking again, and this time Szayel was in a state to actually notice. He directed a weary glower his way, but otherwise didn't comment, too battered to put up much of a protest.

"Sure Szay, since you said please. That's the first time you've ever said that to me. Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong."

"I don't know… I do not keep track of such inane things."

"Exactly. Well if you want, we can find something to eat or a gentler ride to go on-"

"No food! I don't care what we gone on, but please… no food."

"I ought to take you here more often. You're so compliant when you're close to passing out," Nnoitra remarked cheerfully. Szayel grimaced, annoyed.

"Aren't you just full of ulterior motives? That didn't sound suspicious at all."

"Can't tell me it isn't true though," he taunted. The scientist's face pinched, and he slipped out from under the arm draped over him, pushing Nnoitra away. This display of stubbornness didn't last long as his body promptly abandoned his resolve; a feeling of vertigo caused him to sway, and he grudgingly accepted Nnoitra's proffered arm as the world began to spin again. His body was not yet over the effects of his recent illness.

"Fine. It's true. Stop gloating already," he grumbled.

"No please this time?"

"Don't make me smack you, Nnoitra."

"What a violent bitch you are. Its you that oughta be smacked, you know? Here' lets go on this."

"What!"

Szayel scowled at him as he led him over to another ride nonchalantly. He hardly took any of it in, so focused as he was on the black haired human's cheeky retort.

"What about what?" he asked lightly of the irate Arrancar.

"What you just said!" he shouted, verbally stomping his foot.

"That you're a violent bitch?"

"No, the other part!"

"That someone ought to smack you?"

"Yes!"

"Well what's there to be explained?" Nnoitra inquired playfully.

"How dare you threaten that?"

Nnoitra laughed, then snaked an arm under his knees, hauling him up so that he carried the smaller man. Szayel's face heated with indignation, and he glared at the taller man with self-righteous fury.

"Shut up, would ya? I never said I'd be the one to do it, only that you'd be better for getting' smacked. You're so high strung. Anyways, I'd much rather to this with you."

There was an odd bobbing sensation as Nnoitra stepped down, and all of a sudden, the world seemed much less solid and more fluid. Szayel looked down, realizing what this new ride was, and his already pink cheeks darkened another shade. He scrambled to the side of the boat as soon as Nnoitra let him go, but the current was already carrying them away from the "shore." He gripped the edges, fingernails biting into the paint for a long minute before he glanced back at Nnoitra. The taller man sat with his legs bent, gazing serenely over the water. Ahead, an arch marked the entrance to a tunnel.

"You enjoy tormenting me like this, don't you?" Szayel asked, a petulant frown tugging at the corner of his mouth. Nnoitra beckoned him and he reluctantly slid over to where he sat, settling himself on the provided bench. It was better than huddling in the hull anyways, and it was warmer next to Nnoitra. The lightless tunnel was slightly chilly after being in the sunshine and the heat of the outdoors for a while. He urged the boat to go faster and carry them past the exit he saw ahead, but the current was fixed and would not go any swifter than what it was created to.

"If you consider it torment, then maybe. You're the one who said you liked me first," Nnoitra replied, "And you said you didn't care what ride we went on next, so you've got no right to complain. Pick your words better next time, pink haired freak."

He had no reply to this so he just sighed wearily and leaned his head against Nnoitra's shoulder, staring blankly at the light that steadily approached. Nnoitra didn't make a move in response, which surprised him a little. It was as much a surrender as he'd ever given, yet the taller man didn't take advantage of this submission. He didn't know if he appreciated this gesture or not. The current carried them through to the light, and Szayel blinked as he found himself in an unexpected scene.

It looked a lot as though they were in a rainforest. Though he knew there was a dome overhead closing everything off from the outside, it looked like the sky was showing through the occasional gap in the massive canopy overhead and that they were in fact somewhere in the tropics rather than an amusement park in Japan. It was very warm, stifling even, and the air was thick with the scent of rich loam and ripening fruit. The breeze that trailed over his face was humid and lazy, barely stirring the sultry climate. Between trees bloomed exotic flowers, and feathery ferns unfolded vibrant foliage in showy cascades. Everything was so green, so alive. Even the shadows in the undergrowth seemed imbued with a life of their own, especially when the fitful play of sunlight caused the patches of shade to shift constantly. Everything seemed as though it were simultaneously in perpetual motion and yet unmoving, rooted firmly in the soil.

"Incredible…" he breathed, looking around. He could not seem to take it all in fast enough.

"I'll assume you didn't design this either then?" Nnoitra remarked.

"The separate technologies required to construct such an exhibit yes, but for the actual design… no. Again, what humans can do is remarkable."

"You like plants? Or are you just marvelin' at the engineering?"

"Both… but to be honest, I admire the set of aesthetics exercised with the flora more."

"So you like the plants."

"Yes, Nnoitra. I like the plants."

"Left we go then," he said rather mysteriously, and sure enough, the river soon forked three ways and their little boat turned down the leftmost stream. "Voice activation," was the explanation he offered with a half shrug as the rainforest closed around them more thickly and blocked out most of the sunlight. Szayel soon came to understand why he'd chosen this route. The water narrowed so that the banks of the forest were nearer, and Szayel was able to appreciate the variety of plant life more closely. At one point, he longed to break off one of the trailing vines laden with heavily perfumed flowers, but refrained at Nnoitra's prompting.

"They'll kick ya off the ride. There are cameras all over the place watchin' for people who pick the plants since they want to keep the habitat nice."

"How unfair…" he protested but left the flowers alone, albeit rather wistfully. Nnoitra noticed and grinned, teasing.

"What would you have done with them? Drape them around your neck like a scarf?"

"I don't know…" Szayel muttered testily, "I just thought they looked nice and I wanted them."

"If I got you a flower like those ones, would you wear it?" Nnoitra asked.

"Sure," Szayel replied absently, "But you can't pick any, remember?"

"Mmm…" said the taller man vaguely as he scanned the water, "What's your favorite type of flower?"

"I don't know… there are many I like, but orchids come in so many different varieties. I think perhaps some kind of orchid."

"No roses for you, huh?"

"Roses are overrated. I do like them, but they do not rank among my favorites. They are so commonplace now; they've lost their uniqueness to cheap symbolism, bad poetry, and shallow commercial holidays. Everyone likes roses. I am not everyone. And so I prefer orchids or some lesser known but equally beautiful flower."

"I'd compare you to a rose, but you probably wouldn't be impressed by the allusion."

"No I wouldn't. Quoting Shakespeare is not at all imaginative, Nnoitra. It's just an easy way to make oneself seem sensitive and romantic, or some other nonsense. And in terms of my thorns, I am not a rose either. They make a show of their thorns to ward off those who might pluck them. I'm more like the flower that externally appears innocuous, but is in reality quite toxic."

"Why don't we drop the flower metaphor?" Nnoitra said, wincing.

"You were the one who initiated the conversation."

"Yes, I'll make sure not to allude to allusions anymore. Its bad enough when you wax philosophical."

"Pardon me for being loquacious. I know you are unaccustomed to dealing with someone who actually has insightful opinions of their own."

"And you say you aren't a prickly person. That's jealousy right there, Szayel. Not a pretty emotion, though it is a little sweet on you. God forbid the Inventor is jealous of someone else."

Szayel shoved him sullenly and Nnoitra caught his hands, kissing his fingertips. He released them as the scientist squeaked involuntarily, startled out of his mood by the unexpected action. Watching him scoot sideways with mild alarm, Nnoitra chuckled his amusement and directed the conversation back to a safer topic.

"They're sorta delicate things though, aren't they? Orchids that is? They die pretty easily."

Szayel seemed relieved that he'd changed the line of conversation, for he gave him a thoughtful reply.

"Only under the wrong conditions. Under the right conditions, they are extraordinarily diverse and resilient. Clever plants; they fill niches. Some thrive with no soil high in the canopy where they can reach the sunlight, and they absorb the water and nutrients they need from their surroundings. Delicate yes, but resourceful and very beautiful."

"Have you ever kept one?"

"Actually, I don't garden. I have never cultivated plants in my life."

Nnoitra turned and looked at him, amazed.

"Really? I thought everyone's done that at some point, especially you. Even I've got a pot of herbs sitting on my windowsill at home."

"Not me."

"Well today's as good a day as any ta start. I think I'll buy you some seeds later. Mint at the very least, since you like tea. Oregano is another good one to have around; I can even give you some cuttings from the café since we've got a small herb garden out back. And then there are the purely ornamental plants that are just nice to look at. Hanging plants are great anywhere, and flowering vines like jasmine if you have the room. Or even if you don't, you can keep them in a pot and give them a small trellis to climb on. The limited nutrients and root room will ensure that they don't grow too big. Or you could invest in bonsai trees; wouldn't be a problem for you cost wise, and that sort of thing seems up your alley."

"… do you garden Nnoitra?" Szayel asked, a little surprised by this new side of him that was becoming more apparent.

"I dabble. Learned most of this from a past girlfriend. I've less of a one track mind than you might suspect. Aha!"

"Aha?"

Nnoitra saluted him, grinned, and jumped out of the boat. Szayel hurried over to the side, waiting for him to surface. He did, his head breaking the surface of the water like a seal. His long black hair drifted around him gracefully, reminding him of kelp, and he offered him a cheery wave as he tread water.

"What do you think you're doing?" Szayel demanded, puzzled by his impulsive actions.

"Holding you to a promise," Nnoitra replied. He swam over to where the water eddied around a couple of rocks on the right shore, forming a miniature inlet, and reached into the hollow. His fingers circled around a bright yellow object that bobbed gently between the stones. Cradling it in his hand, he swam back over to the boat and placed it up on the bow. Szayel crawled over to examine it. It was one of the flowers he'd wanted to pick earlier, but couldn't. He leaned over the side of the boat to watch Nnoitra, who swam circles around him languidly.

"I suppose I'll have to wear it now," he mused, trailing his fingers idly through the water.

"Yup," Nnoitra informed him eloquently.

"Hmm…" he replied with a noncommittal grunt.

"Or…" Nnoitra hedged, swimming over to him with an impish glint in his eye.

"Or what?"

The lanky human grabbed his arm, smiled, and dragged him bodily from the boat. He tumbled gracelessly into the water with a loud splash. Sputtering, he flailed in a panic as he struggled to keep afloat.

"Damn it Nnoitra, I don't know how to swim!" he wailed before choking on water.

"Better learn fast," Nnoitra remarked, but took pity on him after watching him drown for a minute. He pulled him up just before he could sink and towed him back over to the boat, helping him back in before hauling himself back on board.

"I lived in a desert. I never had the opportunity to learn how to swim," the scientist explained hoarsely after he'd coughed up most of the liquid he'd inhaled. His expression was a little sour as he wrung the water out of his hair.

"That would explain why you don't garden too," the taller man observed, perfectly content to drip all over the boat.

"Indeed. Nothing grew there. Nothing. Not a single living thing."

"Sounds depressing."

"It was rather bleak. You can understand why I spent most of my time in my lab."

"Well now you're surrounded by more greenery than you'd ever care to see," the taller man remarked as he plucked up the yellow flower and twirled it between his fingers. The inner petals wore a rosy blush, he noticed now that he could see it up close. Brushing the scientist's wet hair back, he slid the stem behind his ear and arranged it so that it framed his face.

"It matches you," Nnoitra observed with amusement, "Yellow and pink. You know, I never noticed but your eyes are yellow. Guess I had to get over the hair first. Ha… nothing about you is ordinary, is it?"

"You manage to make that sound like an insult somehow," Szayel said wearily, tucking his knees up to his chest. His clothes clung to his skin, seeping water, and he doubted if he would dry out any time soon. Especially not in this environment; it was too humid. They would go mildewy first.

"Cold?" Nnoitra asked as he watched him rub his legs.

"A little, amazing as that sounds, but I'll warm up," he replied quietly.

"Yeah. Ride's almost done. You can dry out in the sunlight."

Szayel glanced up at him, a little shocked.

"Really? It's almost over?"

"Its not a very big ride. All the turns in the river and the slow pace make it seem big, but its actually a pretty short trip."

"Oh."

Nnoitra gave him a sidelong look, his eyes calculating. At last he shot him a smug sort of half smile and slid over to him.

"You seem disappointed," he said

"Ah…" Szayel replied intelligently, scrambling for an answer, "It was beautifully designed with an eye for aesthetics and engineering. It seems a pity that it is over so soon."

"Mmm… but this is one of the longer rides in the park despite all that. It was _designed_ to be," Nnoitra pointed out. Szayel didn't comment on this, only grew more self-conscious. To fill the silence, the black haired man continued talking.

"It can be a pretty popular ride, especially during peak season. That would be in the springtime… around March or April. Summer too, and it gets decent traffic around this time of year as well. But we lucked out today. I guess everyone wants to enjoy the gorgeous weather outdoors, before it starts getting really cold and rainy. Which is fine with me, since it means we get the place practically to ourselves."

He paused, looking a little thoughtful as he appraised the smaller man.

"You know, I never mentioned that you look good today. I said your clothes were suitable, but I didn't complement how you look wearing them. You pull of halter tops and shorts well. Really well."

"You have my Fraccion to thank for my outfit. They have perverse senses of humor," Szayel explained, feeling a little edgy at where the conversation was headed.

"I think I'd like them," Nnoitra said.

"You probably would."

Nnoitra grinned and pulled him up into his lap, prompting his cheeks to color. Why he still felt so unsettled around him, he didn't know why, but Szayel hoped this would not persist. He did not like feeling so insecure whenever he touched him. It did not help that Nnoitra knew this and took advantage of it frequently. He looked wicked as he reached behind Szayel's neck and undid the ties of his shirt, letting them fall to dangle over his shoulders. Simultaneously he kissed his collarbone and teased the shirt down, exposing his chest. Szayel tensed.

"Nnoitra…" he said, a note of anxiety creeping into his voice.

"Trust me," the taller man murmured, kissing the newly bared skin. His hot breath tickled, warming him where it touched.

"But-"

"Won't you trust me?" Nnoitra asked, interrupting his vacillations. He gazed up into his eyes, imploring him to submit. Szayel swallowed, then shook his head.

"No. I'd be an idiot to trust you."

And he would, it was true. Especially in this position. But it was the second time that day his doubts were called into play on the matter of trust, and he found his resolve was so much weaker this time around. Nnoitra sighed with frustration at his answer and opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could voice his counterargument, Szayel shushed him. An impulsive fancy had struck him, one that both shocked and thrilled him, and he had decided to go along with it this time, given the events of that day. Riding the kites had changed something in him.

"I'm not finished," he said a little truculently, "As I was saying, I don't trust you. I don't trust anyone. But… I'll be willing to overlook that and trust you anyways, since you've asked me to. So… don't betray my foolish faith and prove me right."

Nnoitra looked nonplussed at his declaration.

"…you don't trust me and yet you are entrusting yourself to me?" the human asked quizzically.

"Essentially, yes," he replied.

"I see. Well then I guess I'll just have ta show you."

He resumed his progress from before, brushing the surface of his skin gently with his lips. When tongue came into play, Szayel gave an involuntary shudder, his body heating.

"Still trust me?" he asked mischievously.

"Yes," Szayel said, licking his lips. Nnoitra smiled against his skin and slid his hands down his back so that he cupped his ass. The other slipped under the fabric of his shorts and around his thigh. Szayel's pulse was hammering by this point, his body hyperaware of every caress. He no longer felt the chill of the water.

"Still trust me?"

"Nng…" he grunted in a vaguely affirmative fashion. Nnoitra's mouth grazed his chin mockingly as he pressed him down against the wooden hull of the boat, tracing along the line of his jaw until he reached his neck. He bit it lightly, lovingly almost as he leaned into him. The tip of his tongue flicked his earlobe as he repeated his question, whispering the words sensuously into his ear.

"Still trust me?" he husked.

Szayel nodded, not trusting his voice to remain level. Those words sent a thrill through his body that caused every muscle to clench in anticipation. His shorts felt too tight, his breathing too constricted, and he found himself afflicted by the same heady rush of fear and exhilaration that struck him every time he found himself in this position; yet, lying underneath him, he realized he enjoyed this feeling of helplessness. He drew a sharp breath. _Why? I hate not being in control. I hate being helpless. I've made that very clear before._ Nnoitra rubbed against him, and the scientist could feel him hardening through the cloth that separated them. Miraculously, his breathing sounded uneven, strained; Nnoitra never breathed raggedly this early. His hands clamped over his wrists as he arched over him, staring straight down into his eyes. Their faces mirrored each other's.

"Still trust me?" he breathed, his eyes half lidded with desire. Szayel stared up at him for a long minute, weighing the myriad thoughts that flitted through his mind. Two claimed the most weight in his conscience. With the first, he questioned his resolution. The second was a revelation.

_No… that isn't it. I need to be in control, but I don't fare well when I am in full mastery of my situation. Back in Las Noches, there was Aizen who I devoted myself to and worked under. There were regulations restricting what I could do. It was a love hate relationship. I… do best when I have some kind of limit to work against, otherwise my own progress stifles me. Creativity within boundaries. Hah… so I actually like someone dominating me. How pathetic... _It wasn't an easy realization to make; that he wanted, no, thrived when someone else held him in check. But even processing this new concept, he somehow still managed to dredge up a coherent reply.

"Yes," he croaked, shutting his eyes tightly. Nnoitra did not move for a moment but remained hanging over him, watching. Then at last he leaned down… and kissed his forehead.

"I wonder, do you really?" he mused, sitting back on his heels, but from his tone, he seemed satisfied with whatever answer he'd sought. He helped Szayel up into a sitting position as he opened his eyes, and even did the ties on the back of the shirt for him, "After all, I never did say what I was asking you to trust me about."

"Are you happy now that you've played your bloody mind games you sadist?" Szayel groused, irritated upon discovering that Nnoitra had only been teasing him. The human smirked and kissed his cheek, drawing him back into his lap.

"If you really wanna continue, we can find somewhere without cameras," he purred, nuzzling his neck.

"Cameras!" Szayel exclaimed, looking mortified.

"Didn't I mention earlier that there are cameras on this ride? So they can make sure people aren't ruinin' the plants? Or did ya forget?"

"Why the hell did you do that if you knew there were people watching! Oh god… that's so humiliating…"

"If it's any consolation to you, they don't record sound. And I've done much, much worse with others."

"That doesn't help me, and I don't want to know the details of your past flings!"

The boat entered a dark tunnel; identical to the one they first passed through. Szayel took the mercy the sudden darkness offered him to cool his cheeks with the sopping cloth of his shirt and arrange his clothes so that they looked less bedraggled, which was difficult given the fact that they were so wet. When they emerged from the darkness, he'd managed to compose himself somewhat and had slid out of Nnoitra's hold back into his own seat. Dignity was a difficult thing to maintain however in light of how achingly aware he was of the man that sat next to him. As their boat drew up to the dock and they stepped out, Nnoitra dropped another question.

"So… seriously. D'ya wanna find someplace and…"

He twisted his index and middle finger together suggestively to demonstrate his point, and Szayel shot him a filthy look, made all the filthier by the fact that the impulsive side of him wanted just that. Very much. Fortunately, common sense and Mother Nature teamed up to give him some respite from his hormonal urges. Impulsive Szayel rumbled mutinously but subsided as his stomach growled audibly, calling attention to the fact that it was long overdue for a meal.

"Well nix that then. Nothing's fun on an empty stomach. We can discuss our plans after lunch."

Szayel's face twisted into the most exasperated look he could muster as he turned and delivered a scathing tirade, his voice dripping scorn.

"Do not mock me! If you don't plan on finishing what you begin, then don't start. You can have _this_ when you're actually serious and not just playing," he placed a hand on his hip, thrusting it to one side suggestively while he bat his eyelashes, "Until then, go chase some other tail. Like you I may, but I'm not a naïve plaything for you to just use and drop."

Nnoitra sighed and gave him a rather morose look when he finished.

"Guess that's a no then."

Despite his affectations, he didn't seem too put out, for he quickly brightened at the prospect of food- that he wouldn't have to make.

"What're you in the mood for?" he asked, sidling back up to him. Szayel was unruffled by his sudden mood change, taking his quirks in stride. The sunlight was beginning to dry his hair, though his clothes would take much longer, and as he pushed some of it behind his ear, he discovered the flower was still nestled there securely. It hadn't fallen out during Nnoitra's little game. Feeling whimsical, he gave an irreverent reply.

"I don't have an opinion one way or another. Surprise me."

"I thought you didn't like surprises?" Nnoitra prompted, amused.

"I'm sure that choosing a lunch spot is relatively harmless," he replied dryly.

"If you say so. I'm not complainin'. Then after lunch, we can go on more rides."

Szayel winced, thinking of the roller coaster.

"All of a sudden, I doubt my decision. Tell me where we're going to eat."

Nnoitra cast him a sly look.

"No. You're gonna have to wait and see, or else ya get to starve."

"Nnoitra," I warned, the beginnings of a frown clouding his face, but the taller man just shook his head and grabbed his hand. The charming smile he turned on others was aimed full strength at him, and Szayel felt his resolve waver even while he wondered how it was possible for _Nnoitra_ to _have_ a charming smile. Surely that broke some fundamental law? But nonetheless, he could and did, and Szayel was already swayed to his suggestion before he dropped the bombshell.

"But didn't you say you trust me?"

It was spoken ingenuously and without hesitation. Szayel caved.

"Yes…" he admitted, and allowed Nnoitra to pull him after him.

"Perfect," he declared, then added perversely, "We're eating yakiniku."

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Oh my god... its finally finished. ;-; I apologize to those of you out there who waited for this. AP testing and an ear infection delayed this chapter three weeks or so, but now it is done. I wrote half of it yesterday afternoon and typed it up yesterday evening and today. Typing takes so long. x_x I never look forward to typing. Anyways, you have a dream to thank for breaking my writer's block. Had a dream Thursday night about composing an essay about Abraham Lincoln, and it was at that point after waking up and going "WTF?" that I realized I'd sunk too much time into my AP US History and AP English exams, and that they were affecting me subconsciously in my sleep was definitely not good. I needed an instant infusion of fanfiction, stat. And thus, you get this crap.

Well, I like it a whole lot better than Reset, so I suppose it isn't crap. :D But I digress; onto explanations.

A theme park. Really? How unoriginal right? Well, I compensated for this with some mildly interesting and inventive (not really) rides. For all you physics people, though I doubt there are many of you here, don't hurt me. I actually sunk some thought into how the kites work, and there is more to them than what I wrote here because I am lazy. The electromagnetic roller coaster is a bit harder to justify. I don't know how they made it work; it just does. It also has a backup generator in case the power fails so the people don't die. That would be rather unpleasant. As for the boat ride...

Well, you can thank my history teacher for that one, telling us his Disney stories. Folks, don't pull a Nnoitra on Its a Small World. There are cameras. And people watching. And laughing. In the (now) immortalized words of my teacher: "Yes. We were sick, perverted voyeurs."

On the whole, I feel ambivalent towards this chapter. (Though I no longer feel antsy about reactions. I wish I could lay out everything for you as I see it in my head, but that wouldn't be fun and would probably bore you. Suffice it to say that Nnoitra isn't freaking out anymore.) Perhaps I'd like it more if it weren't so painful to write. I can only hope that I don't take so long the next time. Next up is the second chapter of Impressions, then I go to dig out the first six pages of chapter twelve for Fuchsia Phoenix. If I can find them. T_T Wouldn't that be just great if they were lost...

There's your fluff chapter. Prepare for depravity. *Is shot* Read and review if you like this, as ever. :3 I update faster when I see new messages sitting in my inbox. *Shameless hinting* Ta~ 3


	12. Perspective

"Beautiful."

He pulled the tray from the oven and a fragrant wave of heat rose up to meet him. Closing his eyes, he let the warmth caress his face and inhaled the sweet scent of baking pastries.

"I hate you."

A smoky odor followed the original sweet waft of steam, and although not entirely unpleasant a scent, it nonetheless caused him to wrinkle his nose in distaste at the idea of what awaited him. He placed his cargo of lightly browned cream puffs aside, as if by moving them away he could keep them from the other man's tainted touch. For surely, it was; on the rack below where his confections had baked sat another tray, this bearing dark, shriveled husks of pastries. He doubted that they could be called edible, let alone palatable.

"You're incredible. You truly are."

"Shut up."

"I'm not being sarcastic. I really mean that. I cannot conceive of how what you did is even possible. We followed the same recipe, used the same ingredients, and baked them for the same amount of time on the same heat in the same oven. So many controlled variables and yet… such different results. It's astounding. You defy logic."

"I don't need any shit out of you. I get enough from Hiroko."

"Haha! You're cursed, Nnoitra. Your karma is catching up with you in this incarnation."

"Fuck you! If that's the case then how come your cream puffs aren't burning?"

"Because karma doesn't really exist; you just suck at baking."

"That's it. I'm through with this shit," Nnoitra declared as he took off his hair tie and stormed over to the sink to wash up. Szayel tracked his progress across the room, offering him an insincere simper when he finished and turned back around to face him. Nnoitra crossed his arms and glowered at the pink haired man until at last he gave up on this and looked away with a disgusted snort. Szayel smiled to himself and turned back to his work, transferring the cream puffs to a plate and affixing a metal tip to the bag of whipped cream he'd prepared from scratch. One of them at least. He'd made a variety; each flavored differently. This one contained traces of ginger, allspice, and cardamom. Another had cinnamon, molasses, and pumpkin. Yet another creamed honey and almond. The fourth was ordinary whipped cream with a touch more vanilla added than the others. The pastry puffs themselves he'd infused with chai, his own personal touch.

_Fruit tarts would be good to make. I want to try persimmon since it has such a unique taste, and pomegranate would be an interesting challenge with all the seeds…_

He scrunched up his face as he concentrated on filling each of the puffs, alternating creams so that he ended up with a varied assortment. He wouldn't come close to using up all of it though. Perhaps Hiroko could make use of it in some project of hers? He was close to finishing when all of a sudden he felt Nnoitra's long arms snake around his torso, pulling him snug against his chest. Startled, Szayel reflexively squeezed the bag he was holding, and a great spurt of honey and almond whipped cream squirted onto his hand. He eyed the sticky mess sourly, tilting his head back to look the taller man in the eye.

"I'd appreciate it if you'd warn me before you do that. Look what you made me do," he remarked sternly with a disapproving twist of his mouth. Nnoitra grimaced, earlier irritation having apparently dissipated.

"What's the fun in that?"

"I avoid getting messy is what."

"So that's the only issue you have with it, right?" he prompted. Szayel sniffed arrogantly in reply.

"No, Nnoitra. The problem is that –gah!"

Szayel stuttered over his would be haughty reply, his mouth dropping open with surprise and his cheeks coloring as Nnoitra promptly grabbed his wrist and lifted the cream covered hand to his lips. Smirking, he licked off a ribbon of the sweet filling, his eyes holding Szayel's all the while.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded indignantly.

"Fixing your mess," he replied cheekily before licking up another curl. Szayel's pulse pounded in his ears and wrist, where he was acutely sensitive to Nnoitra's ministrations, but to his credit he didn't panic. Not immediately anyways.

Nnoitra finished cleaning off the last of the cream and angled Szayel's fingers towards his lips. Kissing them, he took the tips into his mouth and sucked while his other hand slipped under the hem of his shirt to stroke his stomach.

"Nnoitra!" he shouted, a note of apprehension leaking into his voice.

"Mmm?" the black haired man replied vaguely.

"The cream is gone. Stop molesting me!"

Nnoitra relinquished his hold on his wrist and sighed as he withdrew the hand on his abdomen. He did not however let go of him entirely, but remained behind him, disconcertingly close.

"Can't you lighten up just a little?"

"Not around you, regardless of how many times you ask. You'd take advantage of me."

"That's part of lightening up."

"Oh really?"

Nnoitra turned him, pinning him against the counter.

"Really," he assured him with a licentious wink as he pressed his hips flush with the other's. Szayel's face burned from the provocative position he suddenly found himself in.

"Well too bad. I don't feel like it," he replied stubbornly.

"Sure you do. You're getting' hot even while you deny it. Can't refute what your body's sayin'."

"Screw my stupid body! Listen to what _I_ say!"

They both paused, and Szayel blanched. Why why _why don't I think before speaking around him?_

"Sure thing, Szay," said Nnoitra with a wicked grin. In a flash they were on the floor tangled up in each other. Everything was a whirl of color and heat; nothing made sense until he found himself flat on his back with his shoulders pressed almost painfully into the floor and Nnoitra on top looking insufferably smug.

"Don't you dare," he warned, slightly breathless from their flurry of activity.

Nnoitra smiled impishly.

"I dare," he whispered conspiratorially as he leaned in to kiss him.

"Mmph!" he protested as he wriggled underneath him. Nnoitra's response was to trap his arms over his head and kiss him harder. Szayel saw stars and gasped for breath as soon as Nnoitra released his mouth, dizzy from lack of air. As disoriented as he was, he offered little resistance to his advances until he felt the black haired man tug his pants down and slide his broad palms over his hip bones. Szayel drew his legs together and up defensively as Nnoitra levered himself over him.

"Don't make me force you," he cajoled as he worked his shirt off.

"You already are, bastard!" Szayel spat back, irate at his playful tone. He glared when Nnoitra wedged a leg between his locked knees and prized them apart.

"If its any consolation to you, you hold the record of all my interests for having lasted longest without getting' laid."

"So I'm only an interest? Well that makes me feel so much better about getting forced into having shallow sex with you."

"You're the one who asked me to listen to what you said. I'm just obligin' that command."

"Nnoitra- ah!"

He yelped as the man nibbled the tender flesh over his pelvis and squirmed as the region grew hot in response. Nnoitra chuckled and peeled away the last bit of cloth obscuring his prize- or began to. He was foiled before he could finish by Hiroko walking in on them. She stared at the panting heap for a moment before dropping off her load of dishes and snatching up one of the cream puffs.

"Your break ends in five minutes, Takeda," she informed him as she popped it into her mouth, looking totally unfazed.

"Damn," he replied with feeling, easing off Szayel.

"Indeed. A real shame. Do me a favor and get a room next time; this is where I make _food_ that people _eat_. I need it to remain clean. There's even a room upstairs that is conveniently soundproofed. Or better yet! Have your fun after work when no one will inconvenience you by interrupting. Not that I care, but one must think of the customers."

"The customers… of course Hiroko-san. How inconsiderate of me."

"I expect to see you back in the shop groomed and fully clothed when your work day resumes," she said curtly before turning to leave.

"Yes," Nnoitra sighed melancholically as he stood and fixed his clothes. Szayel breathed relief as he sat up, feeling his cheeks flame as he pulled up his pants, straightened his shirt, and adjusted his glasses, which had been knocked askew.

"What are you sighing about? You've still got five minutes," the woman remarked with a saucy grin as she swept out of the kitchen. Szayel stared after her, eyes wide.

"Hiroko!" he yelled to her retreating back with indignation.

"Hiroko-_san_ you little ingrate, and I don't get involved with Takeda's extracurricular affairs. Tough luck, kid," she called from the café.

"But you don't need to encourage him…" muttered Szayel. He glanced up at Nnoitra nervously, trying to gauge his mood. The taller man smiled at his pinched expression.

"Well, you heard the lady. I've got five minutes," he remarked brightly.

"That's no lady," was Szayel's dry response.

Nnoitra smirked and pulled him to his feet, putting an arm around his waist to steady him.

"She likes you. That's why she teases you," he said.

"And you?" Szayel asked.

"Driving people crazy is just a hobby of mine," Nnoitra replied lightly, kissing the top of his head before letting him go. The scientist was a little surprised by this gesture and voiced his confusion.

"You aren't going to try something?"

Nnoitra looked amused by his uncertain query and quirked an eyebrow suggestively.

"Five minutes- four now –are not enough to do anything worthwhile, but if you're still interested… you could always come over to my place later and do some baking."

"Ah, I think I'll pass on that offer," Szayel muttered wryly.

"Too bad… but it's your loss really."

"I'll endure somehow."

Nnoitra tied his work apron on and cast him a playful grin.

"Right. We'll talk after I get off. I've got somethin' I forgot to mention earlier that I want to discuss with you. Got sort of sidetracked, you know?"

"'Sidetracked' is a polite way of putting attempted rape."

"You're makin' me sound like a criminal, Szay," he said reproachfully as he swept out of the room to attend to the register. _Maybe because you are one_ Szayel thought as he stared broodingly at the wall for the next ten minutes until Hiroko walked in and found him. She quickly put an end to his sulking.

"You gonna finish filling these puffs or shall I kick you out? You said you'd help with the baking today, so you damn well better live up to your offer."

"I volunteered Mrs. Hiroko; I did not indenture myself to you as an apprentice or a servant to be ordered about," he replied coolly, stirring from his spot.

"Same difference. The only thing voluntary means is that you can walk out whenever you want and not suffer repercussions. However, you are working with me and your reasons for working are not so pure that you may walk out without a care in the world. So as long as you are under _my_ jurisdiction, you will do as _I_ will, and I will you not to stew in that corner uselessly and take up space. Now get back to baking, or if you'd rather you could always wash the dishes instead."

"You are a frustrating woman, Hiroko-san," Szayel remarked as he walked back over to his station and continued filling the puffs.

"Ha. I'm merely your humble ego deflator," she retorted.

"You and Nnoitra both, and you're anything but humble."

"Shut up and fill those pastries faster. We're doing tiramisu next, then we're making truffles."

"Truffles! I do not know how to make candy, Mrs. Hiroko. I cannot help you there."

"Making candy is just like making anything else. Keep a cool head, be quick, and follow the instructions. I'll give you the pointers a recipe book doesn't, and the rest depends on an innate intuition, which you seem to have. I'll admit that candy making is more intuitive than other kinds of cooking, but you'll be fine."

"Very well," he replied, filling the last puff and carrying his bags of whipped cream over to the fridge, "But you don't strike me as a chocolatier. What is the occasion?"

"One of my underlings has their birthday in three days. Since you offered to help in the shop today, I figured I'd take advantage of that assistance today to get the truffles out of the way so I wouldn't have them looming over my shoulder later. Tiramisu doesn't take long to prepare, only chill, so that leaves us the rest of the day to focus on the chocolates. That'll free me up to make the recipes reliant on freshness in two days or so."

Szayel blinked at her, a little stunned. Whatever answer he'd been expecting, it hadn't been that. Here was another side to the fiery, middle aged woman; a softer angle. But perhaps it had always been there, and he just hadn't taken note of it."

"That's surprisingly sweet," he said without thinking. The demon stirred. Hiroko's eyes flashed, and she grinned maliciously. Szayel regretted voicing his observation.

"I've changed my mind," she said in a dangerous croon, "In addition to the truffles, you're going to learn how to make liquor chocolates and bon bons from scratch."

"That's inhumanly cruel and vindictive, Mrs. Hiroko," he said reproachfully as he considered the enormous task ahead of him. His list of tasks to accomplish had just doubled while his time to do them remained the same.

"You can either complain and waste time or get to work and finish before I close shop. Grab the mascarpone and eggs while you're over by the fridge, will you?"

Szayel retrieved the requested ingredients with an exaggerated sigh of supreme suffering. He doubted he would have any down time between now and six, assuming they finished by six. He did not know how long it would take to make the candies, but he anticipated that they would take more than just a couple of hours. And if Hiroko had it out for him now, he doubted that her mood would improve over the course of the rest of the afternoon. The scientist briefly considered walking out as he'd pointed out he could do, but knew that, as she'd said, he wouldn't. Unless inspiration hit him, he had nothing to do with his day, and the hours would pass more quickly under stressful conditions than if he whiled away his time staring at the ceiling. And that was really the fundamental problem with being an immortal mastermind; after awhile, ambition ceased to be a driving force and things became incredibly dull. To the point where it could be used as leverage against him.

_It's a very good thing for human dictators that they die before they can grow bored with their victories or the tedium would lead them to suicide. Perhaps they'd grow a conscience and become philanthropists?_ Shaking his head to clear it of his idle musings, he cracked open a recipe book and scanned the index for tiramisu.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Hiroko liked to see him squirm. Making the chocolates had been surprisingly simple, so simple in fact that he was left with a lot of downtime. She'd threatened and teased and coerced him into working hard, but once they started, he realized that their task wouldn't take much more than three hours. The after noon had passed more relaxedly than he'd anticipated. When they'd finished with all the sweets, she stored them away in another room, which contained its own refrigerator. It was the one she used for special circumstances, when she didn't want anyone touching what she made. It had a lock on it, to discourage nosy people, though he doubted if anyone would risk incurring her displeasure for a peak even if there wasn't a lock.

She'd left him to his own devices once she'd extorted from him the services she desired, in a decidedly better mood than usual. Szayel took the opportunity to flip through her recipe books and decide on his next project. He chose flan, a custard dish served with caramel on top, though this custard was firmer and held its shape. It was also, he found out, extremely tricky to make properly as the baker needed to have an intimate knowledge of the workings and quirks of his particular oven and tools. Failure to prepare it correctly resulted in a grainy, dry, over browned product. Szayel failed, twice, before he discovered the ideal temperature and length of time to cook it for, something Hiroko assured him was fantastic.

"Many never learn how to make it right," she'd remarked approvingly. He'd only grimaced and grumbled that it wasn't perfect yet; he still struggled with the caramel. At this she'd only grinned and left him laboring over the oven. It took him quite a few tries with the caramel before he'd achieved a product that was sweet, golden, and glossy without tasting burned. The most arduous part of the whole process was scraping the blackened caramel from the bottom of the pan each time he was unsuccessful, for Hiroko would not allow him to switch pans unless he felt like "doing extra dishes." He had plenty of those to do without adding to the burden. By the time he'd baked a pair of flans to near perfection and topped them with an adequate drizzle of caramel each and a sprinkling of brown sugar, he set them to chill in the fridge, cleaned up his work area, put away all the ingredients, and washed the dishes, he was exhausted both spiritually and physically. His human gigai demanded rest as it was quite unused to strenuous activity over a long stretch of time. Though he did not mean to, he fell asleep sitting upright in a chair. This was how Nnoitra found him when he walked into the kitchen after finishing his shift.

The human spotted the slender figure slumped in his chair, breathing softly and deeply. His pink hair fell into his face, obscuring it slightly, but there was no mistaking that he was asleep. He must have been very tired to have nodded off while upright, or to even have slept where someone could walk in on him and catch him in a vulnerable state. Nnoitra paused, half expecting him to sense his presence somehow in that uncanny way he sometimes demonstrated, but he did not wake. The scientist remained in his sleeping state, lips slightly parted and blissfully unaware of his surroundings. Nnoitra found it incredibly difficult to walk the remaining paces to him and just shake him gently.

"Wake up, Szay," he said patiently, trying to ignore the way he moaned softly in reply. He closed his mouth and shifted a little in his seat, but otherwise did not show any signs of waking. Nnoitra shook him again, a little more firmly. Szayel's eyelids fluttered and he stirred, a small frown twisting his lips into a pout, but still it didn't rouse him to consciousness. Nnoitra leaned in then, loosing some of his self restraint, and kissed him on the lips. This prompted a reaction; after a few seconds, Szayel straightened and began to wake. Nnoitra stepped back as he opened his eyes, stretched, and yawned dreamily. When Nnoitra came into focus, he offered him a sleepy smile, then looked around a little bewilderedly as he took in his surroundings.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, sleeping beauty," Nnoitra remarked as the other man grimaced.

"Did I really fall asleep in the middle of the kitchen?"

"Apparently so. You were sleeping like the dead."

"The dead don't sleep. That is an inaccurate analogy."

"Whatever you say. All I know is that you were out."

"This body is inconveniently fragile."

Szayel sat up but made no move to stand, he still looked tired, though in no danger of falling asleep. Twisting his spine to realign the bones, he looked up at the taller man musingly.

"There's flan in the fridge. You can have one of them," he informed him quietly. Nnoitra meandered over to the refrigerator and opened it, quickly finding the desert. He glanced over at Szayel as he selected his.

"Want me to bring you the other?" he offered. Szayel shook his head.

"That one is for Hiroko, to apologize for wasted ingredients. I've tried more flan today than I care for."

"You screwed up?"

"Abysmally."

"Wow. Maybe I should mark today down on a calendar. You actually failed at something."

"Multiple times."

"Wow," he repeated, shoving a spoon into the flan and scooping a piece into his mouth. He looked down at the desert critically, then ate another spoonful. After the fifth, he walked back over to Szayel and pulled up a chair across from him.

"It's good though," Nnoitra said, "Really good."

"It had better be. It gave me a lot of grief to cook."

"You should have some," he insisted.

"No thank you."

Nnoitra stuck his tongue out at him and stuffed Szayel's mouth with a spoonful of flan.

"Eat," he commanded. Szayel swallowed. It did taste good; creamy and decadent. Nothing like his earlier attempts. Nnoitra meanwhile continued the conversation.

"So I was wondering if you wanted to do something with me on Thursday?"

"As if I don't spend time with you every other day of the week?" Szayel remarked sarcastically. It was true. After the day at the amusement park, they'd begun to spend more time together. At least an hour or two each day. The expanding collection of plants and sprouting seedlings in his suite were a testament to that, though Nnoitra had yet to see them in that setting. The details of his home remained a mystery to the human, and every day, Nnoitra grew bolder in his advances. Whatever apprehension he'd developed seemed to have dissipated after the theme park. Today was a good example of that.

"Yeah, but Thursday is a _special _day. I want to take you somewhere new."

"Where?"

"Well…" he said with a rueful smile, 'It's more like to what. I want to go to a costume party."

"A… costume party?" Szayel echoed, his inflection making it a question even if it was an observation.

"Yes. Its kinda like a get together my old college is putting together. Not quite as stuffy as a reunion. Basically, it's a way to brag about what you've made of yourself so far, but superficial reasons aside, I think it could be fun."

"So we each select a costume to wear and go dressed as such to this social event?"

"Well," Nnoitra said thoughtfully, "I was thinking to liven things up, we could pick each other's costumes."

"Pirate," Szayel said immediately. Nnoitra gave him a questioning look, and the scientist elaborated on his ambiguous statement. "You are going to be a pirate."

"Any particular reason?" the human asked, bemused.

"I have an eye patch fetish," the pink haired Arrancar replied dryly. Nnoitra shrugged, grinning, and didn't question Szayel any further. The wry allusion was lost on him.

"I'll be whatever the hell you want, as long as you're going. And since you seem so taken with the idea… I'll enjoy picking out your costume."

Szayel went a little pale at these words, then his face reddened as he realized the trap he'd been suckered into.

"Nnoitra! You aren't going to… don't you dare pick anything weird! I will not go out in public wearing something humiliating!"

"Have a sense of humor, Szay. C'mon… you don't even know what you'll be wearing yet."

"Nothing dignified, I know."

"Nobody will know you, and everyone will be dressed strangely. It's a costume party; you aren't meant to be dignified. You're just supposed to have fun. So, is it a date?"

Szayel pursed his lips but nodded, agreeing.

"Alright Nnoitra. I'll go, but you have to have the costume to me the day before, so if I don't like it, I'll have time to make adjustments. Take it or leave it."

The taller man looked slightly exasperated but did not try to argue the point. He only shrugged before pulling the scientist into a one armed hug, the other still occupied with the flan.

"Guess I'll have to make do. But you know? It isn't fair that you get to pick my outfit and I don't get to pick yours," he remarked as he released the smaller man. Szayel offered him a condescending look.

"We'll see. I'm not saying that I won't wear what you pick, just that I reserve the right to refuse to wear it. Now do you by chance have some measuring tape around the shop?"

"As a matter of fact, we do," said Nnoitra, "What do you want it for?"

"I need to take your measurements so I can have your costume fitted properly," Szayel replied. Nnoitra smirked, a lascivious glint brightening his eyes.

"Does that mean I get yours?"

He reeled them off briskly, denying him the embarrassed reaction he knew he wanted, and Nnoitra frowned, heading off to retrieve the tape.

"You're no fun," he said as he returned and passed it to Szayel. The scientist grunted and wrapped the tape around the taller man's waist, pulling it tight.

"Tough," he said, "You're the one inviting me so put up or shut up."

"Shoulda left you sleeping," Nnoitra grumbled, "You're more obliging that way."

Szayel glared and tightened the measuring tape so that the human was forced to exhale the breath left in his lungs… leaving him with no air to speak with.

"And you're more cooperative when you can't breathe," the scientist retorted with a smirk. Nnoitra rolled his eyes but relented, the lure of oxygen too great to hazard a snarky comeback.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Szayel eyed his handiwork on screen with a critical expression, then nodded, pleased.

"Lumina, Verona," he called. The twins, who'd been waiting for their master to finish his design choice for the past hour and occasionally offered opinions or advice when solicited, stepped up to flank him.

"Yes-" Lumina began.

"Szayel Aporro-sama?" Verona finished.

Szayel gave them both irritated looks.

"I've told you before to stop doing that before I strap you to my operating table and sever your vocal cords. It's obnoxious."

"Of course," they said in unison, and he swallowed the urge to do something unspeakably horrible to the pair. Those two were getting cheeky, with their impish half smiles and irreverence of him sometimes, but it would be far more trouble than it was worth to replace problem was, they knew this.

"I've completed the order. Send it off to the company and fill out the billing details. I expect the order rush delivered, of course."

"Yes Szayel-sama," they replied, and Szayel gave them a warning look They ducked their heads respectfully, but beneath their dark curtains of hair, he knew they'd be smiling. Impudent creatures. Szayel felt the urge to mess with them, and this one he indulged.

"I've seen the summer wardrobe, and I must say… it could use some work."

The pair tensed, shoulders going rigid, and he smirked to imagine the expressions they were making.

"Ah… of course. Completely out of line," Lumina stuttered nervously.

"We'll fix it right away!" Verona added, voice cracking with anxiety.

Szayel smiled serenely.

"See that you do."

He dismissed them to their work, then drifted over to his laboratory, connecting to Nnoitra's number with a thought.

"Hey," he said when the other answered, his lips curling into a smile, "How are things coming along on your end?"

-.-.-.-.-.-

Wednesday. Nnoitra would have received his package by now, as he'd warned the black haired man the day before. He'd managed to refrain from describing it to him, preferring to let the other discover the particulars of his costume on his own. Of course, he wasn't expecting Nnoitra to have his to him until the day of, regardless of his conditions.

How wrong he was. A package sat conspicuously on the table when Szayel arrived for his daily afternoon visit. It claimed all his attention as soon as he stepped into the shop, becoming a morbid point of fixation. Nnoitra grinned at him as he came over, still staring, and slid the package across the table top.

"Why the surprise? You said to have it to you by today, right?" he teased.

"Yes, but I was not expecting…" Szayel began, picking it up and turning it over in is hands. The weight and feel of it gave no indication as to the contents, and it was wrapped in a black paper that he knew would not expose the clothes within to external scrutiny. The only way to know was to open the parcel itself. His hand twitched, moving towards the gold ribbon that crisscrossed the surface of the paper.

"Open that when you get home," Nnoitra ordered, and Szayel paused. His fingers twitched again with the powerful urge to tear the bindings off anyways, but he managed to control that impulse. His face was sour with disappointment as he left it alone, and Nnoitra chuckled as he leaned across the table and kissed his cheek.

"You'll see it soon enough. Then if it's really terrible, you can ditch it. But you know… it would really make me happy if you'd wear it."

Szayel made a sound of disgust and turned away from Nnoitra's kiss.

"Like I care," he said primly. The human smiled and stood.

"Right. So I was thinking we could take a walk down to the waterfront for lunch today."

-.-.-.-.-.-

Szayel inhaled as he freed the clothing from its wrappings.

_No way. No, this is just…_

"Nnoitra, why…"

The pink haired man groaned as he let the costume drop from his hands and sat back on his couch heavily, face twisted with consternation.

"Why do you have to do this to me?" he asked of the air.

Was he serious? Or was this just a joke? A test? Did he really believe he'd wear it? Or… was he just assuming he'd bring is own costume regardless and decided to pull out all the stops?

_And why is this such a dilemma to me? Why am I even conflicted about this? Giving it a minute's consideration?_

He stared at the heap of beautifully sewn clothes that lay discarded on the floor and buried his face in his hands. It was all too confusing… and it wasn't supposed to be. He was supposed to be clear on his own limits, right?

Szayel left the room and its unsettling new addition, combing a hand through his hair. Now was one of those rare times he didn't want to think; just shut down and ignore the reality around him. But being who he was, that was as likely to happen as he was to stop breathing willfully. Try as he might, he'd think in the end.

"I said I wouldn't wear it if it was too humiliating," the scientist said brokenly to no one in particular. His only response was the quiet ticking of his clock and the burble of a fish tank Nnoitra had given him the idea to set up a week ago.

-.-.-.-.-.-

They saw each other again Thursday afternoon, as usual. The details of the day faded away in his mind, hazed by the oppressive presence of the decision that waited for him at home. Nnoitra had noticed how preoccupied he looked, but tactfully refrained from bringing the topic up. His silence only made him feel more cornered, and by the time he bid him farewell and returned to his suite, it weighed like a death sentence on his mind.

He had to decide. The clothes still lay on the floor where he'd left them the evening before. Skirting the pile, he angled for the bathroom. Once isolated here, he hunched over the sink and let his fingers clench the marble bowl until they turned as white as the stone they gripped.

"Shit!" he breathed, the word flying from his mouth half gasp and half exclamation.

The scientist stood there for several minutes, feeling the ebb and flow of emotions threatening to overwhelm him like the thoughts that plagued his mind unceasingly.

_I have to make a decision. Do I wear it or not?_

He had time. If he was really desperate, he could even make himself a costume. But would he? The scientist sighed, letting go of the sink, and looked into the mirror. A wan face stared back at him, pale and confused. It was an effigy of anguish, so troubled it seemed at the verge of breaking down. He seemed…so ordinary. Szayel touched his cheek and watched his double mirror the action, not quite believing the expression of anguish he was making.

_And all over some clothes? Pull yourself together; this is ridiculous. This is…_

"Human," he whispered, finishing his thought aloud, and the word was an epiphany. Tonight he would be a human in the eyes of everyone who would appraise him. So what did that make him then?

"Just a lost soul. Another lost soul who no one knows."

And wasn't that the point of a costume party? To pretend to be someone one wasn't? No one would know him as Szayel. He didn't have anyone to maintain appearances for. Himself? That was psychological; a set of expectations coded by society. Nnoitra?

_You can ditch it. But you know… it would really make me happy if you'd wear it._

"Like I care," Szayel said, parroting his own reply from a day ago. But his lips curled into a wry smile and he straightened, coming to a decision.

That was the problem in the end. He did care. Shaking his head at his own hopeless stupidity, he walked out of the bathroom and retrieved the package from the floor.

"Well," he remarked lightly, "If I'm going to dress up, I wont do it half assed."

Nnoitra was going to get more than he'd bargained for. So much more. An elfin expression flitted across his face as he resigned himself to the evening ahead and shook out the outfit, holding it up to eye level. _I'd better get a truly classic response when I see him, or I'm walking out on him then and there._ The scientist smiled at this thought, his will bolstered, and took a steadying breath.

"Like cake…" he murmured unconvincingly, and stripped. He wanted to be clean… and it was easier to style hair when it was wet.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Szayel's breath caught as he felt all his air compressed out of his lungs. He'd discovered something worse than roller coasters and sick days; corsets.

"Dear god, how did women from any time period manage?" he gasped, struggling to inflate his oxygen deprived lungs. He promptly abandoned this endeavor as Verona tightened the laces further, and he lost himself to a lightheaded delirium. Surely this would kill him. He'd pass out and die from a lack of air and then he'd have to defibrillate his gigai or something tedious like that.

"Please bear it, Szayel-sama. I'm almost done," Verona announced, and he felt her tie off the laces in the back. The scientist ventured to breathe and found himself coughing instead.

"…truly the invention of a sadist. Even I'm not so twisted to imagine a socially accepted torture device," he muttered faintly. Verona came around to stand in front of him and fanned his face.

But I'm the masochist to wear it anyways…

"Do you need assistance with anything else?" his female Fracción inquired mildly.

He shook his head and waved her away, and she promptly left him alone in front of the mirror with the rest of his ensemble. His hands smoothed over the ruffled dress he wore, finger tips plucking at the lace edged borders conscientiously. _Oh_ that dress… Szayel sighed, staring at his reflection doubtfully.

Leave it to Nnoitra to pick something so kinky. And to his Fracción for helping; the company it came from was the same he'd ordered Nnoitra's from.

It took after the romantic style; bedecked in beautiful silk and satin ribbon… lace and ruffles and pleats and luxurious flounces of cloth. But the cut was more modern; where the length of the skirt would have swept to the floor in a traditional dress, this one boldly ended above mid thigh, covering him… but just barely. The rest of his legs were obscured by sheer stockings that ended just below the skirt line, revealing a narrow strip of bare skin, and his feet were encased in a pair of knee high boots that laced up the sides and added a few inches to his height. The heels were actually rather frightening, and he wondered how women managed to walk in such contraptions.

The dress itself was of a simple design, nothing too fancy. No sparkle or extravagant stitching. The corset was burgundy silk and ribbed, dipping down in a V shape until it reached his hips whereupon a mass of layered flounces, alternating black and burgundy, lent them false fullness and definition. The flashes of white lace, which edged the lower layers, were striking, but inevitably drew the eyes down. As if to compensate for this, an arresting cravat of white, that tied around his neck, cascaded down his front, the frills ending just above the dip in the corset above his chest.

That was another thing. Szayel ran a finger across the line where cloth ended and skin began. It was a misleading line, a false one. The corset did more than narrow and shape his waist; it added too. To a part of his figure that didn't exist, and with today's materials, an accurate deception. He tried not to fixate on the new swell of his body, preferring not to think of it too much. If he did, he'd find himself getting flustered at the thought, and that was something he absolutely couldn't afford to do. Things had to seem natural.

There wasn't much left to add. The sleeves; he pulled these on. The fabric tied just below his shoulders and billowed out to full cuffs. His nails he'd already trimmed and buffed till they shined. It was time to apply the make up. Opening the kit Verona had brought him, he rifled through the various cosmetics before selecting a tube of plum colored lipstick that reminded him of the color of the markings in his Resurrección. The blush was a damask rose, applied lightly along his cheekbones to give them definition. He went for a layered effect with the eye shadow; a light pink undertone that morphed into a dusky shade of pink and finally a dusting of purple around the edges. His eyelids he rimmed sparingly with black eyeliner, then a thin line of white to bring out his eyes and mascara to lengthen his lashes. Enormous and stunning; an eye catching amber that verged on molten gold. If only this form didn't have weak eyes… for tonight, he'd replaced them with clear contacts. He set the kit aside, wondering how Nnoitra would react. Eccentrically as he dressed at times, he didn't apply make up. Ever. The scientist didn't intend to enlighten him as to how he'd learned either.

Last was the hat. A silly little thing a quarter of the size of a real one that was meant to be tied on with a ribbon under the chin. It was decorated with colorful feathers that trailed and a false but convincing floral arrangement. Szayel undid the pins that held his hair curled and arranged the pink locks into soft waves that hung around his face charmingly. It was a messier look, one that reminded him of his earlier days as an Arrancar. The hat went over this, and he positioned it at a rakish angle on his head. Taking a shallow breath, he stood a little shakily and looked at himself in the mirror.

Tall and model thin, with a narrow waist and a defined but not exaggerated chest. The skirt gave the impression of hips that didn't really exist and teased the imagination. And it was amazing, truly amazing at what a change of clothes and some make up could do. Looking at himself, Szayel didn't see a cross-dressing man. He looked…so natural, carrying off this outfit. Like it suited him. Even if it was all, everything, artificial. A feeling of disappointment welled up within him, and he sat back down. A burble of laughter rose to his painted lips.

"I guess I'm just too good at playing pretend," he remarked wistfully to his beautiful reflection, who stared back with eyes haunted by a strange emotion.

He forced himself to stand again and practice walking in his heeled shoes. And gradually, painfully, he grew accustomed to both the limited steps he could take and a shallower breathing pattern. He was, however, in no mood to walk Karakura City dressed up as he was at night, and so he took the easy way out by opening a Garganta a block away from the café.

The back door was open since the shop proper had closed four hours ago, and the only business maintained at this time of night was strictly illicit. The shop never really closed, just to the general public. After hours, it became a hotbed of shady activity as the rest of the Family came home. Szayel passed through it and into the kitchen area of the shop, materializing from the darkness beyond the door.

A group of members loitered around a collapsible tale that had been dragged out of the closet, many of them faces he didn't recognize. He'd met some of the others on his evening outings with Nnoitra, but the majority of the gang remained unknown to him. Which was well enough; he didn't particularly care about the other mobsters. Wondering at the occasion that had drawn so many from their retreats to the shop this evening, he spied cake on the table and recalled Hiroko had mentioned it was the birthday of one of her underlings today.

"Takeda, your date is here," she said to Nnoitra, who was chatting amicably with another man. He paused in his discussion immediately, looking up. As soon as he saw Szayel, his eyes widened with shock. The scientist smiled back and stepped into the light.

"I'm here to steal Nobu for the evening," he announced, and the others shot each other sly glances at his words. The man sitting next to Nnoitra nudged him in the ribs.

"You're staring," he informed him with a smirk. Nnoitra shook his head, as if clearing a cloud from his mind, and stood. Szayel saw he was already in costume. The admiral's jacket fitted him perfectly; not clingy, but not loose either. It was a gorgeous navy blue with gold lapels and ivory cufflinks shaped like daggers. A red sash hung at a crooked angle off his waist, and the tan trousers he wore disappeared into a heavy pair of black boots. His hair was worn loose and wild today, the top of his head covered by a black officer's cap, and a gold chain hung around his throat. It was the skull and cross bone insignia on the cap and the patch that covered his left eye that gave him his air of roguishness and hinted that the well dressed man pandered to a more illegal line of work. But _oh, _that eye patch…

"Szayel?" his pirate asked, uncertain.

"Yes Nnoitra?" he returned mildly. Nnoitra blinked, still looking disoriented.

"You look…" Nnoitra trailed off, and Szayel waited. The other man swallowed, finding his words. "God, you look incredible. To be honest, I didn't expect you to wear that."

"I might as well. You bought it with my money. Or rather, my dear assistants forwarded the bill to my account."

Nnoitra's mouth quirked into a smile, but he still seemed bewildered. _Guess he bought it as a joke after all._ Somehow, he found this thought disappointing.

"Yeah, they approached me Tuesday evening and helped me navigate the company's catalogue. I thought you'd sent them at the time, since they introduced themselves on your behalf."

"Ah yes. Lumina and Verona… I knew you'd get along," Szayel remarked, and Nnoitra grinned. He seemed to have shaken off the most of his surprise, for his expression turned devious as he walked up to him and put an arm around his shoulder.

"I'll have to thank 'em later. For now, lets go to that party."

"You rude bastard, Takeda. Aren't you going to even offer him a slice of cake before dragging him off?" Hiroko interjected, "It may be your birthday, but that doesn't give you an excuse to forget your manners."

"It's your birthday?" Szayel asked, looking up in surprise. Nnoitra rolled his visible eye at Hiroko.

"Yeah, it is. But-"

"Why didn't you tell me! I'm your boyfriend god damn it!"

"Well I wanted to keep it secret. I woulda told you later."

"And I suppose you would have used that information later to guilt me into doing something for you."

Nnoitra kissed him on the lips, stemming his caustic words. He made an irritated sound, but subsided, albeit sulkily.

"Of course," Nnoitra replied when he'd shut up**. **Szayel _hmm_ed to himself, but didn't inquire as to what. He'd find out later.

"I don't have a gift for you," he said sullenly, and Nnoitra gave him a squeeze.

"You wore the costume, didn't you?"

Hiroko coughed, drawing attention to herself. They looked over.

"The chocolates, Grantz,"

"Chocolates?"

_Oh._ His moodiness evaporated as he suddenly realized why she'd had him make them. He disentangled himself from Nnoitra, following the woman, who marched over to her private fridge. Upon unlocking it and looking inside, Szayel saw she had already packaged the chocolates he'd made in neat cellophane bags tied at the top with silver ribbon. He looked over at her wordlessly, and at her nod, reached in to pull them out.

"I figured he'd pull something like this, so I had you unknowingly prepare a gift," she said.

"And here I thought you didn't interfere with Nnoitra's affairs."

"I don't," replied Hiroko, "But its fun to mess with him and frankly, you're going to need all the help you can get tonight."

She gave him a purposeful once over, and he found himself getting a little self conscious. Hiroko was someone he knew after all, someone he'd have to interact with again. At his faint wince, the woman grinned and shut the fridge, relocking it before she led him back to the kitchen.

"You don't look bad, kid. You just wouldn't be mistaken for male in a million years. Good luck."

The café manager passed him off to Nnoitra, who waited by the doorway. Still feeling utterly ridiculous after Hiroko's appraisal of him, he offered the packages to his date without comment. There were three different bags, each containing one of the three sweets he'd made. And they didn't contain all he'd made either; he guessed that Hiroko had kept two thirds of each batch for everyone else, which was probably a good thing since he'd made quite a lot.

"You didn't make these by hand, did you?" Nnoitra asked as he inspected his gifts.

"Hiroko instructed me in how to make them and assisted, but yes; I made them myself."

Nnoitra gave him a funny look as he tucked the small baggies into his pockets for later.

"That's amazing. Reminds me of how people would give each other handmade chocolates on Valentine's day, though that's not so common anymore."

"Hmm."

The taller man wrapped an arm around him and escorted him out of the door, waving a farewell to the others over his shoulder. Their retreat was met with catcalls, and Szayel felt himself tensing up in response. Noticing his discomfort, Nnoitra struck up a conversation.

"Why'd you humor my request?"

"I found myself obsessing over what to do, and I decided that wasn't right. That no one would know me anyways and… because I figured, well you said it would make you happy."

Nnoitra's ever present grin faltered for a moment, and he seemed to be caught unbalanced. His recovery was swift, but some of his surprise still showed in his words.

"Oh really? I just sort of said that. I didn't think you'd pay it any mind. I mean, you've always struck me as a proud person."

Szayel paused, face darkening. But under the defensive expression, another lurked. He couldn't quite place it himself, only knew it wasn't something he'd felt often. The scientist struggled to pin a name to it. Pain, he finally settled on. It was pain he felt, and this distressed him. Frustrated by this revelation, he turned and punched Nnoitra in the arm.

"I am a proud person, and do you know? That was my downfall the last time, because I was too arrogant to see past my own limitations. No, I was too arrogant to even conceive I _had_ limitations. I used to be convinced I was the pinnacle of achievement. A perfect being. And I was forced to realize in the cruelest of ways that I'm not. I won't stop being proud because I have good reason to, but don't question my actions when I deviate from the set persona you ascribe to me. I'm not so two dimensional."

Nnoitra rubbed his arm where Szayel had hit him, looking once again taken aback and a little dazed for the third time that evening. The scientist made a frustrated sound and sped up, unwilling to wait for the other's reaction. But it never really came. Nnoitra only lengthened his pace to catch up after a few minutes.

"This way," he indicated once they found themselves in the more heavily urbanized districts, and proceeded to guide him through the many twisting streets. Their destination, once they reached it, was what appeared to be a rented out nightclub. Inside, Szayel could see the lights were dimmed and colored lamps lit, lending the place a mysterious ambience.

And there were people. So many people. They milled about, a disorienting crowd dressed in the most outlandish costumes. Szayel needn't have worried so much about his looks; he wasn't tame in comparison per se, but he certainly wasn't the most arresting attendee. Rather than relaxing at this discovery, he felt uncomfortable. He unconsciously stood closer to Nnoitra, taking reassurance in the solidity he offered.

"You went to school with all these people?" he asked as he watched a pair dressed up as a geisha and a samurai stroll by.

"Yeah. And this isn't even the half of them, but its not like I know them all personally," Nnoitra replied. He on the other hand seemed to be loosening up in this large gathering. He was in his element; surrounded by chaos, life, and noise. Szayel envied the ease with which he adapted to his environment, while feeling claustrophobic himself.

"Relax Szayel, you'll be fine."

"You're always telling me that."

"Well its true."

All the same, Nnoitra didn't leave him to fend for himself. If anything, he happily took advantage of his discomfort, pulling him close. And though the scientist felt he should probably pull away to show him he wasn't feeling so clingy, the truth of the matter happened to be that he was. Rarely… no, never had he had to mingle with so many people at once. It was hot and crowded, the mass of humans around him very reminiscent of one large, breathing animal. And he felt like the outsider, the invading pathogen.

Well, it would seem this beast had no immune system. It did not seem to find difference with the pink haired new arrival and his lanky companion, parting to admit the pair. Nnoitra towed him over to the bar and installed him in one of the stools, thus giving him a much needed respite from the chaotic tide.

"So now we're here. What exactly did you have in mind, Nnoitra?" Szayel inquired of him.

"Eh, see you in drag, spend the evening with someone I actually want to talk to, and generally chill away from the shop."

"You don't want to greet your academic acquaintances?"

"Sure. Might be interestin' to see a few, but you look like you're gonna pass out on me."

Szayel frowned indignantly, sliding off the stool.

"I'm not so weak, Nnoitra. I don't need coddling."

"Yeah, I know that. Just pressuring. C'mon; lets go see what other sorry dregs of my undergrad class decided to turn up to this lively gathering."

He took his hand and led him through the throng, weaving his way expertly through the multitude of bodies.

"Takeda!"

A man's voice gave him pause, and Nnoitra turned to see the one who'd addressed him.

"Hey Fujiwara," Nnoitra replied with a grin. From the way his face lit up, it was plain to Szayel that this was someone Nnoitra genuinely cared to stumble across.

"Oh please. Just call me Jun, would ya?"

"Jun-kun?"

The man named Jun winced at the childish rhyme coming from the pirate's smirking lips.

"On second thought, I remember why we stuck with last names," he amended, "Anyways, how've you been? Doing anything with that liberal arts double major of yours? And who is your _friend?_"

Szayel observed with curiosity that Nnoitra's genial grin faltered for the barest of instants. A blink and he would have missed it, the guarded, wary expression that flitted across his face. Apparently Fujiwara had, for his easy smile was as exuberant as ever.

"Szayel Aporro Grantz, and no; I've been slummin' around for the last four years."

"Well you look damn fine for someone whose been "slumming." I'm envious. Maybe I should quit my studies and find a nice rich gal to go steady with," Fujiwara replied with levity. Nnoitra gave him an amused look, and got a cheeky grin in return.

"But anyways, I'm being rude. Fujiwara Jun, and may I say it's a pleasure to meet you?"

Nnoitra's old friend, for that was what the scientist assumed him to be based on his familiarity, extended a hand to shake. Szayel accepted it, feeling tawny, warm fingers envelop his own pale, tapered ones. Jun's eyes brightened and his touch lingered a second longer than necessary, but the other man let go before the action could be called clingy.

"The pleasure is mine, to meet one of Nobu's friends," Szayel replied evenly, keeping the tickling feeling of foreboding out of his face. This person was no threat to him, but he could prove to be someone… troublesome. Nnoitra in turn looked like he was about to say something, but Jun spoke up again.

"Ah, Nobu? Wow, you two really are close. I'm jealous," he said jokingly as he pounced on Szayel's casual first name usage. "Maybe we can all catch up together then? I'm feeling out of the loop."

Nnoitra opened his mouth to speak, but was again cut off before he had the chance to voice his thoughts.

"Nobu-chaaaaaaan! Oh my god, Jun, you are such an asshole running off on me like that! Why didn't you tell me you'd spotted Takeda?"

The petite woman pushed her way through the crows to stand by Jun, looking indignant. A pink flush crept to her cheeks, whether from her indignation, the heat, or the glass of wine she cradled in one hand. Szayel appraised her, noting how she played up her almost childish looks. She had a sweet face and a dainty, diminutive frame, small hands with perfectly manicured nails and a wide eyed, innocent look to her that implored protection. However, there was nothing childish about her hips and chest, and she showed off her figure spectacularly in a slinky, shoulderless dress that cut off around mid thigh. A collar circled her throat, and hanging from it, a bell. A convincing tail dangled from beneath the dress, and nestled in her hair were a pair of tufted ears. Her feet sported an impressive pair of stilettos, and he found himself wondering how she maintained her balance with such ease. A cat then, and inspecting Jun, he realized the man was dressed up in a vaguely canine fashion, with a choke chain hanging from his neck as his unique fashion statement.

Szayel decided he didn't like her on the spot. The simpering, the smiles and feigned outrage and coquetry… it was all false. There was nothing innocent or childish about her; she was a manipulator just like him. And oh how he despised that trait in others, especially when it was turned on him.

"Huh, who's this?" she asked, clinging to Jun for support. Her words were light and lilting, but he knew she wasn't really so irreverent. There was a harsh callousness in her pretty eyes and a subtle chill that pervaded her aura that hinted otherwise.

"Takeda's date," Jun supplied, making as if to pull her into his arms, but the woman brushed past him dismissively, coming to a halt in front of Nnoitra.

"So you've got a new girlfriend, huh? I hear you work through them pretty fast."

"Boyfriend, and yeah. The rumor's not unfounded. But he's playin' hard to get," Nnoitra replied. There was a tenseness in his posture when he addressed her, and Szayel found himself growing a little irritated. Those two had history, and he was willing to bet it was more than just as "classmates."

"Boyfriend? Wow, you sure know how to pick them. But what a coincidence. Did you know Jun and I were going out now?" she tittered.

"I'd guessed from the matching costumes," Nnoitra said.

"So what _have_ you been doing for the last four years?"

Szayel's feeling of irritation piqued as he listened to them converse, and with a sense of wonder, he realized he was jealous of this woman who commandeered Nnoitra's attention. She gestured animatedly while she spoke, showing off her clothes and body subtly. She was flirting, and though he was willing to bet Nnoitra knew it, he was still attentive to her. Feeling a twinge of betrayal, he put a hand on Nnoitra's arm. The taller man peeled his eyes away from Kimiko- as he'd learned her name to be by listening –and looked down at him.

"I think I'll leave you three to catch up," he said, his voice managing to sound perfectly even, "After all, this is a reunion. I'll find you again later."

Nnoitra nodded, his attention reclaimed by the cat girl who protested his departure in coy, pouting tones, but who he knew was glad to have gotten rid of him. For someone who was dating another guy, she sure didn't have any reservations about hitting on Nnoitra. With a sense of disappointment that he hadn't made an effort to get him to stay, Szayel meandered back over to the bar and retreated to the relative isolation of one of the stools.

Here was a novel prospect; one of Nnoitra's old lovers coming back to haunt him, because from the way she acted, that's all she could be. Not once in all his musings had he seriously considered the possibility that he would be dropped. Not so soon anyways. And it didn't really matter, because he was over her and he was current history, right? He found himself having doubts. Where he sat, he could not observe them. As a matter of fact, he'd done that on purpose. But his paranoia was starting to become a hindrance, and giving in, the scientist abused an ability he'd never found occasion to before.

The comChips really were useful; more so than people realized. Back when cell phones were popular, there was the risk of a phone line getting tapped and conversation listened in on. As the comChip system was unhackable, this problem was rendered obsolete. With the exception of himself, of course. There was a reason the system couldn't be hacked; it required the use of a custom Kidou spell he'd designed. To access it would require the hacker not only to not be human, but brilliant in their own right. Thus, it was secure because the Shinigami did not care enough to delve into Earthly inventions and discover his system. He uttered the incantation under his breath, closing his eyes as the conversations in the room sharpened and grew louder. He filtered among these voices until he found Nnoitra's, then focused on this, closing off the links to all of the rest. Using this method, he heard Nnoitra's own words and the words of those in his immediate vicinity through the chip installed in his head.

"I remember the day you first confessed to me. That was like, so cute! You were super awkward."

"You were gorgeous. I thought you'd never notice me."

"I'd noticed you, but I like a man with backbone. Its sexy when you act all dominant. I always liked how confident you are."

Kimiko's words were spoken almost in a purr, and though he could not see them, he could imagine her sidling up to him. _The bitch_, he thought with a scowl as he resisted the urge to card a hand through his hair, which would have mussed it up. Instead, he settled for twirling a spare strand of it around his finger while listening, but after a minute he closed the connection with a disgruntled sigh, not caring to listen any longer.

"Sighing? At a nightclub? You need a drink."

The cheerful voice caused him to turn around in surprise. Jun had materialized from the crowd while he was brooding and looked unusually happy for someone whose girlfriend was giving him the cold shoulder.

"Fujiwara-san, didn't you want to catch up with Nobu?" Szayel inquired neutrally.

"Yeah, but Kimi's got her mits on him at the moment and I won't be able to get a word in edgewise for the next ten or twenty minutes, so I figured I'd buy myself a drink while I was waiting. Anything you fancy?Its on me, since I've already got my wallet out and all."

He waved the slender, black leather case like it was a magic wand, and Szayel found himself indulging in a bemused smile at his playfulness. This response seemed to encourage him, for he promptly pulled a stool up and sat down next to him.

"Scotch," he asked of the bartender, then glanced over expectantly at Szayel.

"A pomegranate cranberry vodka mixer, on the rocks," Szayel supplied at his wordless prompting.

"Nice," commented Jun upon his choice when it arrived, "Did you intentionally chose it for its color?"

Szayel trailed a finger through the rosy liquid idly, licking up the drops when he grew bored with this and his finger cold.

"No. I picked it because I felt like it," he replied haughtily.

"Well it still suits you. So how long have you and Takeda known each other? You two seem pretty steady."

"I've known him for awhile. You could say we go back a ways."

"Funny," Jun said, "He never mentioned you."

"We hadn't seen each other in quite a few years. Only recently did we get reacquainted by chance."

"Really? You're a Westerner, but you speak Japanese like a native. How long have you lived here?"

"Decades," Szayel replied ambiguously, and let him draw his own incorrect conclusions.

"So you're all but short of being born here, huh?"

Szayel offered him a sly smile and took a sip of his drink.

"Correct. I wasn't born here in the technical sense of the term, but I consider Japan as the land of my birth." Or rebirth rather, but that would sound odd to the ears of his companion. He found he enjoyed this game of telling half truths and observing how they were interpreted according to personal bias. He took another sip of alcohol, savoring the sharp, tart tang on his tongue.

"Japan is a good place to live, if you're financially well off."

"I am."

"Oh?"

He could feel the other man's interest deepen as his already charming smile grew more compelling. He exuded charisma, a trait that might draw others to him, but beneath that veneer there was an oiliness to him that Szayel found unpleasant. He was too suave, too genial to be completely honest.

"And what do you do for a living?" he asked.

"I'm an inventor," Szayel said demurely, replacing the article "the" with an "an."

"Ah, so you went to one of _those_ schools. Well, from the look of it you're a successful person. Should I look for your name on the up and coming list?"

"I am already well established. However, I keep my name and profile anonymous. You will probably never hear of me, even if you buy my products. I wouldn't say I avoid publicity, but I don't want to mingle my personal life with my work."

Jun seemed to find this amusing, for his eyes swept his body appraisingly and he smirked.

"I can see where you might run into trouble with the Paparazzi," he remarked jokingly, and Szayel gave him a smile in return that he didn't really feel.

"I'm not mad enough to wish that fate on myself."

Fujiwara laughed, then downed the rest of his drink and stood up.

"I like you. Man, it's a pity you're male and spoken for. But alas… life is unfair."

Szayel swirled the last of his pink alcohol before finishing it off as well. It was clear to him that Fujiwara intended to drag him off, and he wasn't in the mood to spend the night brooding at the bar. As he expected, the other man steered him onto the dance floor, maneuvering as effortlessly through the crowd as Nnoitra had earlier.

"Since those two are occupied, how about we dance and chat for awhile?" Jun asked him with a wicked look. Even before Szayel could answer, it was apparent the request was not so much a request as an inevitability. Szayel nodded anyways, and Fujiwara slid a hand down to rest on his hip while the other found his shoulder and lingered there lightly.

"Ever dance?" he asked, and Szayel shook his head. "Nothing too complicated then."

"Please. I am unaccustomed to walking in heeled shoes."

"If you feel like you're falling, just lean into me and I'll catch you."

"I'll keep that offer in mind."

Szayel felt when Fujiwara took lead, shifting them left, and Szayel mirrored his steps. It began slowly, respectful of his novice ability, before they fell into a rhythm. Szayel thought he would lose his balance a few times at the beginning, but Fujiwara's skill compensated for his early mishaps, preventing them before they could really manifest. Still, his near accidents caused him to rely on the other man, and before he realized it, they were extraordinarily close. But their proximity didn't have the same effect on him as with Nnoitra, a fact he was glad for.

"Ballroom dancing at a night club?" Szayel asked lightly, having noticed some of the provocative "dancing" many others engaged in around the room.

""Its not ballroom. Too casual for that, though I have taken a few classes. Women seem to love a man who can dance."

"How shameless of you to admit openly."

"What can I say? I'm a womanizer. Takeda is too for that matter. Though he goes both ways, he definitely swings more towards heterosexual relationships or else the guys he dates have to be very pretty. Actually, I don't want to sour the relationship but you should probably know he's not… well, how to put this delicately…"

Szayel's lips curved into a pretty smirk as he looked up into Jun's brown eyes, his confident expression muting the other's vacillations.

"Oh, I know Nobu is attracted to me on the most base and superficial level. I don't delude myself into thinking that my feelings are reciprocated."

Fujiwara blinked, clearly not expecting such a blatant answer.

"You… know? And you are fine with this?"

"I understand his motivations better than most, I should like to think. And regardless of how he feels, I cannot reconcile my own attraction. I understand that he is dating me for my body and my money."

"You could probably do way better though. What is it about him you find so appealing?"

Szayel's face took on an expression of amusement as he saw what the other man was angling towards despite his profession to being straight.

"Oh? You don't think I'm aware of that? Liking someone is not a rational thing. But tell me, since you seem so interested, what do you do for a living?"

Fujiwara took note of his sudden playfulness and pulled him closer to execute a turn. When he replied, his voice was just as playful.

"Nothing impressive. I'm finishing up a graduate degree at S University, but I'll have a degree in law when I'm through."

"A lawyer? What kind?"

"Patents and copywrite infringement. I'll get to settle the big intercompany disputes."

"It certainly pays well," Szayel remarked.

"Not as well as being the CEO of a company, but I don't have the innovative mindset or the patience to set one up. I'm content to stand on the lower rung that's already been built instead of building a new one myself."

"So you are a parasite on society then?"

Fujiwara seemed to find this idea highly entertaining, for he grinned, flashing a smile of immaculate teeth.

"I guess you could say that. You've got an interesting outlook. You call me a parasite, yet somehow it doesn't feel like an insult."

"That's because it's a fact," said the pink haired scientist.

"Ha ha! Man, I _really_ like you. You've got a fun sense of humor. Very dry. I love it."

Fujiwara's hand slid down to his lower back, and Szayel realized their bodies were very close to touching. Simultaneously, he took note of the fact that they were no longer in the thick of the crowd, but had gradually drifted to less densely populated parts. Here, the lights were dimmer, not pulsing with the Technicolor lighting that lit the dance floor. There was a sultry feel to the air here, away from the life of the main mass of guests; an illicit aura almost, very heavy and languorous, but marked with an electric thrill of anticipation. Instead of making excuses, Szayel found himself intrigued. Intoxicated by the unusually charged atmosphere, the risk it promised, and his own awareness of the other's not so pure intentions. Or perhaps that was the alcohol speaking? That warm relaxed feeling that took the edge off his apprehension and lessoned his nervousness. Whatever the case, his words were spoken far more seductively than they ever would have been with Nnoitra.

"Is that all you like, Fujiwara-san?" Szayel inquired, and the man's friendly smile took on a touch of cunning. Their polite if undercurrent plagued conversation took a more serious turn as he let more of his actual motivations seep into his words.

"No. You got me. I'm envious of you two, or more specifically, Nobu."

They were coming up to a wall, Fujiwara's posture marked by a tautness he hadn't expressed before. Szayel shifted a little in his hold, considering his options. He had several, some more practical than others, and he tossed these around his mind as he stared up at Jun from beneath curling lashes.

"You have a girlfriend, Fujiwara-san. You shouldn't feel envy," he said softly, playing the unassuming card. The other man leaned in, and he felt his back pressed up against the wall.

"Kimiko? She's about as slutty as they come. It's really more of a convenience relationship; I don't feel anything special for her."

His voice was warm, soothing, and though he was being assertive about his intentions, he wasn't being aggressive like Nnoitra. It was a deceptive ensnarement; he was the type to get you into bed before you realized he'd even swept you off your feet. Szayel smiled, amused.

"Then you can't say you feel anything 'special' for me either. We've known each other for all of twenty minutes."

Fujiwara's hand slipped down the back of his leg, cupping around his upper thigh. His hands teased upwards below the hem of the dress, playful as he pressed against him. His other hand tilted his face, brushing against his jaw as he leaned into him.

"You don't care with Takeda. Can't I replace him? Besides, we're really a better match."

He murmured these words, hot breath brushing his mouth before his lips did. Szayel let him kiss him for a moment, feeling the light caresses intensify, until he felt teeth graze his bottom lip. The myriad considerations filtering through his mind settled on one, clear thought, and offering a half lidded, sensual look, he reciprocated his advances. Szayel wrapped his arms behind his shoulders, arching up into his hold like a cat, and kissed him back.

"You want to play with me?" Szayel breathed invitingly, and Jun responded by nipping his mouth harder. The hand under his skirt hitched the leg it lingered on up so he half straddled his waist, and Szayel found his pulse heightening in response to the foreplay. He was aware of the warmth that built between them where they touched, and the experience was addicting. This game was empowering. He was in control here, even if the other didn't realize it. It was hard not to chuckle into his mouth at the thought.

"Szayel."

_His_ voice gave him pause, and his amber eyes widened as he broke away from Fujiwara awkwardly.

"Nnoit- Nobu…" he said blankly, looking hopelessly at the person he liked. The sudden guilt and tension that flooded him colored his words. Jun seemed to recover with more ease, casually wiping the lipstick from his mouth.

"I was going to ask if you wanted to dance, but…" Nnoitra looked at Fujiwara pointedly, "It seems you already have a partner."

"I thought you did too," remarked Jun, "How was Kimi?"

"Obnoxiously persistent. For someone who dumped me years ago, she seems to have trouble letting go."

"She's a possessive little bitch, isn't she?" Fujiwara laughed, "But she's fuckin' hot."

Nnoitra offered him a wan smile, hands in his pockets.

"Yeah, but I'm definitely over her. I'll be stealing Szayel back from you though, since it is my birthday after all and I'd like to pursue my own ulterior motives."

"Oh yeah. Happy birthday. Hey, no hard feelings, right? I wasn't really being serious," Jun said lightly.

"I know," Nnoitra replied, and reached out to tug Szayel away. The scientist followed, feeling horribly self conscious at being caught in such a compromising situation. _That wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to see that._ But, maybe…? He glanced over to see Nnoitra's expression, and there was a rare anxiety on his face that he hadn't seen before.

"What were you going to do to him?" he asked unexpectedly as they found themselves on the opposite side of the club. Szayel looked at him, caught off guard.

"Pardon?" he asked, not quite believing his ears. Nnoitra stopped walking, and turned him so that they faced each other. His hands rested on his shoulders, and he unconsciously exerted more pressure than was comfortable.

"What were you planning on doing to Jun? The last time you did something like that, you…"

He let his words hang. Szayel frowned, a flash of annoyance flitting across his face.

"Do you know what he was doing to me? Planning on doing? And the first thing you ask is not how I feel but how I planned on punishing my molester?"

Nnoitra flinched, looking equally as frustrated as he. The pressure on his shoulders increased as his stress levels did.

"You coulda made an excuse. You didn't have to go along with it. I mean, my god Szayel; this place is full of people. Of course I don't want them all to get caught up in your revenge. And I was gonna warn you about Fujiwara… how he's a player an' all, but I got distracted and you left and then he left and-"

"Oh shut up, Takeda. I'm not an idiot. I'm not rash. What would've happened between us wouldn't have affected anyone else. And you got _distracted?_ By a former flame? You've got no right to point fingers; you're as much of a player as he. Of course I wasn't going to stick around and watch you two flirt. Maybe, just maybe I felt a little bitter over that. A little jealous," Szayel interjected acidly, looking away from Nnoitra and folding is arms over his chest. Nnoitra caught his chin and forced him to look back at him again, and his heart fluttered at the intense look in his visible eye.

"Well damn it, I feel angry too! How am I not supposed to, seeing you do that with him? His hand was up your skirt and you weren't protesting. Shit…. why is it always others you're so free with…"

Szayel's eyes widened as he came to the revelation that Nnoitra was jealous. Worried about him causing a mess and engaging in mass murder, yes… but jealous. A hint of color crept into his cheeks. Could it be his feelings weren't… completely unreciprocated? Or was it just that the tall human was frustrated he wasn't on the receiving end of what he was after? Regardless of the reason, he was somewhat mollified by this little outburst. Half the time, it was hard to tell what Nnoitra was really thinking. Removing Nnoitra's hands from his shoulders, he went up on tip toe- a dangerous move given his precarious sense of balance at the moment –and gave Nnoitra a shy kiss on the lips. It was the first time he'd initiated one between them.

"Sorry," he murmured, "But hearing that makes me happy."

Nnoitra looked down at the pink haired scientist, dumbfounded, and then he touched his mouth as if to reassure himself that the kiss had really happened. His fingertips came away with a purple smear, which he rubbed off between his finger and thumb.

"Are you drunk Szayel? Your breath smells like alcohol," he asked hesitantly.

Szayel sighed.

"Hardly. Buzzed, yes. Drunk? No. I kissed you because I wanted to, not because I'm under the influence of alcohol."

An enigmatic expression entered the human's eyes, and he reached down and took his hand into his own, broad one.

"You know, there's really no point in lingering here. Just old memories. Not worth it." He gestured around the room, pulsing with light and noise and movement. The air was redolent with the very human musk of sweat, alcohol, pheromones, and the artificial perfumes they wore to disguise the animal smell. Humans never wanted to admit the fact they were from the same, base roots as every other living being. That somehow they were special, yet it was places like these where they clustered to socialize that their cultivated images broke down. Ironic, when events such as these began with the intention of civility.

"Shall we leave?"

Nnoitra's question brought him back to the present conversation, and addressed him lightly.

"If you want. It's your birthday after all."

They wove through the block that milled around the door, enduring another couple minutes in the muggy room, then they were free of the nightclub. The evening air was cool and refreshing to breathe, and Szayel relished the feel of it on his skin, stretching instinctively. Though he hadn't really been, he'd felt cramped inside the building, and it was nice to revel in his newly gained space. Nnoitra still held onto his hand, though he was no longer leading him. Rather, he'd fallen back into an unhurried pace, respectful of his limited speed, and walked alongside him.

"Where to now? The shop?" Szayel asked mildly to fill the quietness of the night as they came to a crosswalk and paused. It wasn't an awkward silence, and he wouldn't have minded leaving it unbroken, but he did want to confirm their destination. Nnoitra glanced over at him, a glimmer of some unidentifiable emotion in his eyes.

"Actually, I was wondering… if you'd be willin' to well, spend the night at my place?"

Szayel tensed a little, anxiety working its insidious poison on his body as he looked up at the taller man, then away again. He made no move to cross the street, just stood there; thinking. It was a multitude of thoughts and emotions that tumbled through his mind, and stressed, he unconsciously nibbled his bottom lip. _It's his birthday, but is that any reason to cave? He meant to work this angle from the beginning, make me feel obliged. _He squeezed his eyes shut, breath catching a little from his nerves. _Then again, don't I want to? I just don't want it to be meaningless. In the end, I'm paranoid that will be the last of it. How contemptible, my sad reliance._

The decision was painful, his indecisiveness even more so. He should tell Nnoitra no, but oh… how he didn't want to. He wanted to go along with him. There was the strange impulsiveness back; he desired to take a risk. To take a gamble. Perhaps the alcohol was affecting him more than he'd thought?

Nnoitra seemed to have grown uncomfortable with his silence, and retracted his offer with a twinge of disappointment in his words.

"Never mind. We'll walk back to the shop. I shouldn't have ask-"

"No."

Szayel interrupted rapidly, opening his eyes, then clarified haltingly.

"No, it's… alright. I'll do it. Spend the night."

Nnoitra's face broke into a smile, and Szayel was glad to see that it wasn't gloating or lewd, but open. There was even a measure of relief.

"Really?" he asked, as if he couldn't quite believe what he'd heard. He'd expected to be turned down, only to meet with this change in fortune. "You aren't going to change your mind on me, are ya?"

"No," Szayel said, getting a little flustered that he insisted on pushing the topic. He didn't want to think about it anymore than he had, or he knew he'd go back on his impulsive decision after all. Recognizing this, Nnoitra eased off on his exuberance.

"Great," he said, stepping into the street. And that's when Szayel heard the gunshots fire.

To be fair, he did hear them sound, but the significance didn't register in Szayel's mind until he felt the lead bullets rip through his body. Everything burned, a blaze of white hot agony that drove him out of his mind with pain. The world slowed to a crawl around him, an indistinct blur as he pitched forward. Twisted flesh, ruptured organs… one lung was riddle through with holes, and the other fluttered uselessly, trying to make up for the loss of the first. His heart jack hammered in his chest with fear, pumping out his own blood swifter than he could comprehend that he was dying.

_Nnoitra_.

Amid the haze of pain and adrenaline, it was his only coherent thought. _They're trying to kill him again. _With a gasp, he caught himself as he stumbled and seized Nnoitra's arm. The man looked shocked, frozen. No time. Szayel picked him up in a display of superhuman strength brought on by the chemicals flooding his system and bolted around the corner of the building they stood in front of just as a second volley followed at their heels.

There was a jolt as his soul attempted to separate from its injured vessel. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to stay even though every nerve in his body was screaming at him to get out. Thoughts swirled around him, hallucinations and vivid memories brought on by the pain.

_He was back in Las Noches, surrounded by a familiar terrain of sand and artificially blue skies. The broken sword in his chest pulsed, the only indication that he was still alive. Dying… dying, but how could he tell? How could he really be so sure that he was still alive?_

_I could be like the distant star whose light still shines across the galaxy for eternity even after I died long ago…_

Nnoitra. He concentrated on his name, on the man before him who still looked bewildered, but comprehension was dawning in his eye. He was opening his mouth to say something, but Szayel couldn't hear anything; just the roaring in his ears and the sharp, echoing rapport of the gun shots. His hands rose of their own volition, crimson with blood… his own? and wove a net of golden light about the human. Kidou. He murmured the incantation, not even hearing the words that left his numb lips. A marvel that he could move them… Nnoitra was still saying something, and dimly, the words registered through the membrane that blocked his hearing.

"Szayel!"

His name. He closed his eyes and shuddered as his soul again attempted to wrench itself out of his gigai, but managed to complete the warding Kidou. He wouldn't be touched now. Not by human weapons.

"Glad… you're safe… don't move," the scientist choked out, and this time he couldn't overcome the jarring disconnect. He was ripped brutally from the gigai, and it crumpled forward against Nnoitra, terribly still. But even though the physical pain quickly subsided, there was no way to escape the illusory agony that haunted him and replayed relentlessly in his mind.

How many centuries? How many millennia did I lay dying?

"Szayel, what the fuck?"

Nnoitra again, bringing him back. He looked ready to stand, mortified by what for all intents and purposes was a corpse in his arms. He leveled a cool look on him, forcing him down with his eyes. Appearing more together than he really felt, he composed a few, empty words.

"I told you not to move."

Ice was what his words sounded like. Fury was what he felt, so hot he couldn't express the sheer depths of his rage. There would be no game this time. The world was hazed in red; he wanted only one thing. Swift and decisive retribution. Unbeknownst to him, his face twisted into an odd mask of an expression; there was savagery in the angled planes of his face, but his lips were curled back into something between a snarl and a grin. It was a chilling, bloodthirsty expression; it was not sane. Nnoitra shuddered as he watched the scientist reach for his sword, an instrument he'd never drawn, and freed it from its sheath. The blade gleamed with a silver-blue light as he raised it above him and opened his mouth, then in a swift motion, plunged it down his throat. _Sip, Fornicarás_ _…_ No preamble, no play. His reiatsu surged as he rejoined with the power he'd long ago sequestered from his body and bound into a weapon for the sake of a more human appearance and greater power. Even the wave of pain and pleasure he felt when his wings sprouted damply from his shoulder blades did not lessen the frenetic obsession that compelled him. He did not groan at the sweet ache as he might usually, but pushed it to the back of his mind. The Arrancar spared Nnoitra a glance before he turned away from him, unwilling to dwell on his expression.

If they wanted it, they'd have their god of death. Their own, personal avenging angel. They should feel privileged; he did not go to such lengths for just anyone.

A flicker, and he disappeared from view only to shimmer back into existence on the other side of the street where the bullets had come from. Or that was what his Sonido might have looked like to someone who had a high level of spiritual energy. The air crackled around hi, a miniature sonic boom following his unnatural speed. His golden eyes scanned the area predatorily, quickly fixing on a group of three snipers moving to get a better shot of their target. Three dead men. In another step, he was in their midst, although they were ignorant to his presence. But not for long.

Their eyes widened when he exerted the full force of his spiritual pressure on the trio. Perhaps he was only the Octava, but his reiatsu would feel crushing to an ordinary human. Indeed, one dropped to his knees looking green in the face and trembling fiercely. The other two looked around wildly, guns raised and reeking of primal fear. Szayel's wings lashed out to strip them of their defenses, tearing the guns in half so that they were rendered useless and cartridges rained down like silver stars from the weapons. The third man's gun he confiscated but did not ruin. Instead, he kept it for himself, turning it over in his hands.

So many ways to kill them in this form. He could make clones of them and have them torn apart by invisible doppelgangers. Or dolls; watch them write on the ground like animals while he took them apart piece by piece from the inside. Or he could to do them what he'd done to Namikawa; infect them with himself and play them off in a battle royale until the last, sniveling wretch had only his own pathetic life to take. So many Kidou spells he could use; create a barrier with negative pressure in their lungs that would force a vacuum. Their chests would collapse inwards and their own snapping ribs would impale them. Set upon them a consuming fire that would leave even their bones no more than white ash. Place upon them a leprous curse that would eat away their bodies and watch them scream in horror as stinking, necrotic flesh slid off their skeletons. So many options, so many creative possibilities, but as he considered them all in that instant, he knew that none were the option he was looking for. They were all indirect methods of killing, and the pink haired Arrancar did not want to be the puppeteer; he wanted to be the executioner.

His wings extended towards the men again and wrapped around them, hauling them up so that they hung suspended in the air. Tendrils curled around one's throat as he applied a teasing pressure against his trachea, but he wasn't really in the mood to play and ceased this activity soon. Hefting the gun, an automatic rifle, he took aim at the first one's head.

It was incredibly satisfying to watch the metal slugs shatter his skull. It burst apart like a watermelon dropped from a height. A shower of red spattered the area as chunks of gray cranial matter flew from his now headless corpse. A few gory gibbets flecked his cheek, but he didn't bother to wipe them away as he casually took aim at the next man. This was the one who'd felt so oppressed by his spiritual pressure; who'd been unable to stand. Szayel aimed for his legs and let another rain of bullets rip through them. They were reduced to twisted stumps quickly, and he arched back, a bestial scream tearing from his lips before it terminated in an ominous gurgle as Szayel shot his throat out mercilessly. He discarded this and the headless one, focusing his attention on the remaining would be assassin.

He was praying. Religiously. Fervently. Prayers and appeals rose from his lips, and his face so wan with fear gazed skyward imploringly. Intrigued by this display, Szayel held back on killing him immediately.

"Oh Lord Almighty in Heaven, deliver me from my sins for I have transgressed-"

The man choked as Szayel aimed for his stomach and emptied the last cartridge into his abdomen. A keening whimper made it through his blood frothed lips before he fainted from the pain, and Szayel cast him aside disgustedly.

"You'll have no Heaven, only Hell," he informed the unconscious man contemptuously, privately wondering what hurt more; the metal in his mutilated flesh or the acid now eating through the perforated holes of his stomach and disintegrating his insides.

Having accomplished his revenge, his ire abandoned him, leaving him tired and strangely empty. He stood there for a minute looking over his bloody handiwork before turning away from the senseless carnage. It was nothing like his last murder; that had been an artistic message, and a pleasurable experience. This was crude, savage, but in itself a message. He'd lost his humor.

Nnoitra still sat where he left him, surrounded by his shield of gold light, the bloody, prone gigai in his arms. Szayel let the barrier fall wearily, and the black haired man surged up to confront him, but stopped. Szayel looked down at himself, covered with fleshy gobbets and blood and assorted other unpleasantries, then at his hands, which had somehow managed to get dirty even if he hadn't touched his victims. He could feel the other's eyes upon him, taking in his changed appearance, and let him stare. Why not? This form was closer to his true appearance, and it wasn't like he'd ever see him like this again.

"What did you do with that sword to make you like… this? Was that magic?" Nnoitra asked. Szayel shook his head, wings fluttering slightly in reflection of his distaste for the term.

"It isn't magic. I really don't like that term. I make use of my spiritual energy to perform what you call 'spells' and I call Kidou. But this transformation is different. My zanpakuto, my sword, is a physical manifestation of the Hollow power I sealed away to become an Arrancar. When I release and rejoin with it, I regain some of my Hollow attributes. How you see me now is the closest you will see me for how I truly look."

"What do Hollows look like?"

"Vaguely animalistic, some much more strongly than others. You took after a mantis."

"And you?" His eyes were fixed on the four, trailing appendages that branched from his shoulders.

"You don't need to know. All I will tell you is that I am something difficult to kill."

At the word kill, Nnoitra blanched, clearly regarding his near run in with death. His attention shifted down to the mangled gigai he held in his arms, then back up to Szayel.

"Your body doesn't look like its in good shape."

Szayel touched its clammy flesh, trying to establish a connection, but was repulsed. He withdrew his hand, glancing up at Nnoitra. It was dead; truly dead. It wasn't fit to be the vessel for a soul anymore. He could try to salvage it, but doubted his chances of success.

"Yes, its very hurt. I need to repair it immediately," he commented more optimistically than he felt. "Help me carry it home, would you?"

"Uh, sure. Wait, home?"

"Yes Nnoitra, home. I need to get it back to my lab. And after what just happened, I'm not letting you out of my sight."

Szayel released his Resurrección, feeling his spiritual energy swirl around him and reform into a sword, which he resheathed at his side, then drew a line through the air with one crooked finger. A crack rippled through the night sky before them, yawning open to reveal the vortex of swirling energy that was a Garganta. Nnoitra looked alarmed, but Szayel motioned him through.

"We're taking a shortcut. Don't worry, I won't let you die."

"What the hell is that?"

"A Garganta. Essentially, an interdimensional portal. It cuts down on walking time."

"You just get more and more bizarre."

"Then what about you? The last time, you were in shock when I killed someone."

Nnoitra laughed, a note of hysteria he'd managed to keep down slipping into the sound.

"Are you kidding me? I'm just barely keeping up conversation for the sake of my sanity."

Nnoitra finally stepped in after another moment's hesitation, and Szayel followed, focusing on materializing the path in front of them, but from the tension in Nnoitra's shoulders, he discerned the man was nervous. Well, he probably should be. It was all too easy to lose control of the rift and die here. Relief was evident in his posture when they finally stepped out into Szayel's living room, and the scientist allowed the Garganta to close behind him without so much of a trace of its former existence.

"Feel free to look around I suppose, now that you're here. But I must attend to my gigai," he said, hoping he wouldn't get into anything too private. Nnoitra passed him his body, and Szayel accepted the awkward burden from him.

"S'fine. I need to make some calls anyways," Nnoitra replied, Szayel left him by the couch just beginning to pace as his eyes focused on a distant contact, and made his way towards his lab. He paused just beyond the doorway, listening though hidden from sight, and heard when Nnoitra's call went through. The man took a sharp breath, his pacing beginning in earnest; Szayel could hear his self control slipping as he spoke.

"Hiroko, what happened! Where are you? The blood? Oh, its not mine. I'm fine. It's Szayel's blood actually. He got hit in my place. No, he's still alive. I'm at his place actually. They ambushed us just outside the nightclub. Oh… god, Maeda?"

Szayel shut the door softly, feeling that he was intruding on something private. Nnoitra's voice was trembling with emotion as he spoke; if he didn't know better, he'd even say he was on the verge of a mental breakdown. But he was stronger than that. He'd keep it together, if barely.

The scientist carried his gigai over to an operating table, laying the ruined vessel across the sterile metallic surface. He stood back to appraise it and was struck by an odd chill. It was like seeing himself… dead on the table. He was reminded again of his close call in Las Noches and shivered. Twice now. He'd experienced the agony of death twice now. Did that make him fortunate? To still live? Or was he unlucky for having gone through what each individual should only have to go through once?

It was a futile endeavor if he'd ever seen one, to revive his gigai. He pulled on nitrile gloves even knowing the attempt would get him nowhere, but it was something he had to do. He was compelled to save that fragment of his identity, that weak human body he'd suffered a cold for, had cooked for, had slept for… He'd lived more in his gigai the last month and a half than he had in two centuries. With a sigh, he prepped the body and set to work.

-.-.-.-.-.-

As predicted, it was a failure. There was too much damage. He was better off creating an entirely new gigai. Walking into the living room, he found Nnoitra sitting on the couch and staring off into space broodingly. He looked over at Szayel as he approached.

"How'd it go?"

"I'm officially dead for the present; I'll have to make a replacement before I can go out in public."

Szayel sat down next to Nnoitra and sighed, one of many times that evening.

"How troublesome…" he murmured.

"So…" Nnoitra began awkwardly. He seemed very anxious about something, and Szayel looked up at him expectantly.

"Yes?"

The taller man struggled to compose his words for another minute before he could voice them in a more or less controlled manner.

"The shop was hit. They were targeting Hiroko, but Maeda stepped in and took the bullets for her. You've never met him, but you saw him. I was talking with him when you arrived. There were some other serious casualties, but no fatalities aside from him. Hiroko got hit too, and she's in the hospital with some minor wounds."

He paused, staring off into space again, and his leashed emotions threatened to overwhelm him just sitting there. He must have been so conflicted, to be driven so close to the brink.

"I told her you'd done the same, that you were alive though and that I'm with you. But I should go see her and the others. Some are hurt badly."

"And what good would your presence do them, Nnoitra?" Szayel asked quietly, "What good would it do them if you put yourself at risk for becoming another fatality?"

The scientist's face pinched into a frown as he leaned into the human. He'd been so obsessed with the prospect of dying, he hadn't paused to think of Nnoitra's own finiteness, but now it hit him with a crippling weight. It was chance that had spared him; pure chance. Even now, he threatened to slip away from him. Szayel panicked at the thought and clung to him, an action that caused Nnoitra to startle and stare down at him with consternation.

"Don't leave. Please, just stay. You can visit them tomorrow, but…"

His own voice sounded laughably frail to his own ears, and a pained look entered Nnoitra's eyes. At last, he offered him a wry half smile and returned the embrace.

"If I asked you to let me leave, would you?"

"No," Szayel replied.

"I'll stay here then," said Nnoira, indulging his selfishness, and Szayel loosened his desperate hold on the other man, settling for just leaning into him. A warm trickle of blood against his cheek startled him, and he moved away from Nnoitra in alarm. The other winced at the pressure he'd just put on his wounded shoulder.

"Nnoitra, you're injured! Why didn't you say anything?"

"Oh… uh, I've been distracted," the taller man offered half heartedly.

"Don't be stupid! That needs treatment."

He was up and crossing the room in an instant to retrieve medical supplies from his lab, despite Nnoitra's protesting that he was fine. Szayel glared as he returned and shoved the forceps into the bullet wound a little more forcefully than necessary, grasping the metal slug and pulling it out. A spurt of blood and a curse from Nnoitra followed as he applied the gauze pad and pressure to the artery. The flow slowed after a few minutes as the wound began to clot, then finally stopped, and Szayel finished by wrapping it up in antiseptic ointment-laced bandages.

"You're being awfully attentive tonight," Nnoitra finally remarked as he put the materials away again.

"You want me to reopen your wound?" Szayel threatened with a prim sort of irritation. Nnoitra quickly shook his head.

"No, I'm good. But it's ironic… I'm finally at your place, on a couch with you, and you clinging to me and refusing to let me go home. But I'm too fucked to do anything about it. Talk about karma."

This was spoken lightly, flippantly. He was trying to inject humor into a topic that weighed over them both. Szayel would have liked to play along and take his mind off things, but found he couldn't. Instead, he perpetuated the solemnity.

"You're so fragile, Nnoitra. So transient. You die so easily, and you will die some day. I couldn't even repair my gigai, so if you'd been shot?"

He wrung his hands, hunching over them.

"I wouldn't have been able to do a thing for you. Not a damn thing. I feel so powerless. The only thing I can do is keep you somewhere safe and isolated from the world, but that's no option because that isn't really living. So what am I supposed to do? Watch you walk away? And I'll have to, I know, and I will… but just for tonight, I want to delude myself that I don't."

Nnoitra absorbed his words silently, and when Szayel looked into his face, he saw reflected there confusion. He seemed conflicted about something. At last, he reached over and pulled Szayel on top of him so that they lay stretched out across the couch. But despite the position, there wasn't anything provocative about his action. It was a generous gesture, one free of subtext.

"I'll be here in the morning, so feel free to pretend," he said softly, his voice surprisingly subdued. Szayel allowed himself to relax against him, not questioning the gift horse he'd been presented.

"What a terrible birthday…" he breathed, letting his eyelids flutter shut. He felt exhausted; mentally and physically drained. Nnoitra didn't immediately reply, so when he finally did speak up, Szayel couldn't be sure he'd heard him correctly through the cottony mire of sleep that engulfed his mind.

"Oh… it wasn't completely bad…"

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

So many things to say... but so little of your time I want to waste... First up, I'll start out with thank you's. Thank you Banana Nut Crunch for carrying me through the early chapters. Though we've fallen out of contact due to my terribly long downtime between updates, I want you to know I really appreciate your commentary. And here are your damn cream puffs; I hereby dedicate this chapter to you as I promised I would.

Katakanion; you definitely spurred me to work on this chapter again so thanks for that, though I uploaded it weeks after I said I would. I loved discussing crack theories about plot holes in Bleach with you. :3

Xylexia... omg, what would I do without you? Thank you so much for beta-ing this chapter and generally providing me with support when I rant about my OTP. D: Cuz boy do I rant... Without you, this chapter probably wouldn't have finished coming into existence for another month or so. All your crazy obsessive reviewing was fun to read too.

To everyone else, I am so sorry this took so long. Honestly, two and a half months is unforgivable. But now its up. The 12th chapter. And its hella long. 17.5k words. *Cracked laughter* And you wonder why it took me so long to update? Hopefully it's worth it.

Ok, now for some commentary.

... you know, I think this chapter speaks for itself. I'll leave you to draw conclusions. As a side note, Szayel is wearing that lacy black and red lingerie under his dress he found in his closet the other day. (Because the skirt is so short, it was either that or nothing.) And yes, he has pet fish. No, you aren't imagining things.

Read and review as always! Guilt me into updating sooner, mer her her. 83 To you people who do review, you're friggin' amazing. I love you all. And hopefully, the next update won't be nearly so long away. D: I'm also uploading a "oneshot" as an apologetic treat for you guys, so look for that if you're interested.


	13. Plaything

That farce of a scientist was back. Back. And not only that, but he'd successfully set things up so all of humanity was under his thumb. Well, that second thing wasn't really so difficult. Collectively, humans really were about as intelligent as a horde of cockroaches and just as numerous. No, it was only the occasional transcendent mind among them that sparked his interest in the species long enough for him to ascribe to them more than the cursory epithet "waste of time and resources." At least his division needn't concern themselves with the minutiae of_ protecting_ them like the others. They were too specialized and valuable in other regards for that.

Until now. _Damn_ that pathetic Espada for cutting into his time. If only he'd taken a few more precautions at the time… but he'd appeared dead and there had been so many other _interesting_ specimens to gather and a vast network of labs to raid for information on Arrancar. If there was one thing he had to concede, it was that the man was nothing less than thorough in his research notes and diagrams. He'd even uncovered an entire book, self illustrated and handwritten, on the anatomy of various past test subjects. A veritable treasure trove of information. No two Arrancar were precisely the same anatomically due to the fact their Hollow hole locations varied so greatly and their mask fragments the same, however, it appeared that they possessed full faculty of all their organs; even if said "organ" did not for all appearances exist. Which raised another intriguing question. If not visible or even tangible, then how could one target these missing body parts? Szayel's notes, written in a neat and elegant hand, detailed that his replica doll ability still functioned on such "nonexistent" organs, leading him to believe they might exist on some alternate plane.

_What a pity I lost him. His abilities would have been interesting to try to replicate_ he thought with a frown, golden eyes gleaming in the pale light of his monitor. _For all I criticized him, I was too rash back then. Going so far as to attempt to kill him. I should have kept him alive. Much more valuable that way. I was as arrogant as he in that moment._

The frown morphed into a cruel grin as the Taichō of the Twelfth drew his lips back, exposing perfectly white teeth edged in gold.

"And how I would have loved to hear you scream and watch you writhe on my operating table, my lost Espada subject."

Spidery fingers, long and bony, tapped his keyboard. Though on Earth such things had become outdated, there was really no replacement for the feeling of physically inputting data oneself. And his "keyboard" was really quite lavish, mimicking the keys on a piano or organ. His password was musical and cryptic, requiring a working knowledge of both music and an ancient offshoot of Sanskrit to manipulate. Rather than having a romanized or character based alphabet on his keys, they were written in a foreign, vaguely Hindi script. And then there was the matter of how he organized his information, unique to his own eclectic thought pattern. Only his daughter, genetically similar to him and privy to more of his thoughts than any other, had a chance at decoding his whimsical system.

A few input commands, and the scientist brought up a display of all those he'd salvaged from the winter war. A lengthy list, all things considering, for the Seireitei had humored his academic interest in the Arrancar corpses left over in such great numbers after the mass cleansing; provided he dissolve the Kidou he used to preserve them when he'd finished his experiments, thus allowing them to purify and pass on. Tch. Such morals… a hassle really, but he'd obeyed. It wouldn't do to appear insubordinate before the Seireitei at this sensitive point in time.

Now, if only he could get his hands on the former Octava… that would be a different story entirely. _But how?_ _Soul society will want him dead, truly dead this time around in order to prevent a repeat of what happened. The fools. They don't understand this isn't something he'll do twice. It's lost its novelty. Even if he is a terrible scientist, he is a scientist nonetheless. This has been a successful experiment. He won't want to repeat it and dwell on it… he'll want to move on to something new._

Mayuri scrolled through the list, scanning through each tidy folder with its own profile. Yammy Rialgo, Grimmjow Jaegerjaques… Yylfordt Granz… His eyes hovered over this folder for a minute before flicking to the file just below it. Szayel Aporro Granz. Even knowing it was empty, the blue haired Captain was compelled to click on it. As he knew he would be, he was met with a Spartan folder. Only a single line greeted him upon opening it: Subject escaped. Further research impossible.

That blank file mocked him silently from the monitor. At the time he hadn't thought much of it. He'd had hundreds of other specimens to occupy him. But now… That arrogant, aristocratic face with its amber eyes, so much like his own, haunted him. He had to get him back.

_I will get him back._

Mayuri's fingers twitched with anticipation, and a flash of irritation plagued his otherwise detached expression. The Seireitei, as usual, was being painfully slow about getting the paperwork approved through the various levels of bureaucracy, especially since humanity didn't seem in pressing danger of being obliterated within the next weeks. In fact, even more levels of bureaucracy had been instituted since the whole incident with Aizen had gone down. The higher ups were paranoid that a repeat incident might occur, and as a result, regulations were more stifling than ever before. It wouldn't surprise him to learn that it would take a half year or more to process.

The scientist made a disgusted sound, long fingernail rapping against his desk impatiently.

"Those morons."

If another Aizen ever emerged, these added levels of security wouldn't matter one bit. They would only become more weak points to exploit; more of a cumbersome obstacle to overcome… as it stood, they only delayed the important progress. But no one cared to admit this. No one cared to acknowledge that another Aizen _could_ emerge, because the prospect was just too terrifying.

Forget about humans. The Shinigami were just as idiotic as their mortal predecessors. How disappointing, that he was confined to such a limited sphere. He could almost understand why Szayel had decided to toy with Earth; because its inhabitants were so intellectually primitive, that was all they were good for. Why, he had to admire Aizen's attempted coup, even if it had failed. So much thought had gone into it. He'd fooled _everyone_; the sheer depths of betrayal felt when he'd turned traitor attested to that. But the man had been an idiot to provoke the wrath of Soul Society and give them time to mount a response, and that had been his downfall. Given enough time, any plan could be dismantled. Szayel's takeover had succeeded due to the fact he hadn't been so stupid as to flagrantly flaunt the information before Soul Society, though he had dropped hints of his workings here and there. Little flourishes of his personality, like signatures.

_Come and play with me,_ he seemed to be saying, _If you're clever enough to see what I'm doing and powerful enough to do something about it, come and join my game._

Mayuri Kurotsuchi wanted very much to join. _Very_ much. He found himself smiling again in anticipation behind his computer screen, an eerie Cheshire grin that twisted his painted face into a chilling mask that would instill a sense of dread in his subordinates and send members of other divisions scrambling away from the scientific Captain with hastily stammered excuses and involuntary shivers. The pink haired former Espada seemed to have changed in these past eighty years. He wasn't so high on his own insufferable hubris. He was more cautious… more subtle. He'd learned.

"But what precisely? What did you glean from me as you knelt dying? What sunk in after a millennia of thought?"

How he wanted to play, to confront and ask him these questions. To break him and extract the information he wanted… but keep him whole enough that he might prove an amusing diversion for a century or two. And by this point, his company might even prove tolerable. Corrupted Arrancar scum as he was, there was no denying the man was brilliant, and that was a quality sorely lacking in the Seireitei. He had no one to bounce ideas and theories off of, no one he could call a colleague. Not that the former Octava would become that. No, that would mean he'd consider him to be an equal, and in the end he was just,

"Filthy Arrancar refuse."

The blue haired man laughed to himself, steepling narrow fingers as he stared intently at the teasingly blank file that remained open on his screen. Such an exquisite torment. With an eccentric smirk, he reached out and traced a fingernail underneath the digital letters of his name.

"Szayel Aporro Granz…"

His yellow eyes glowed in the half light as his smile widened, illuminating his face with a strange light.

"This time, I won't let you escape. You belong to me, and I'll be reclaiming my belonging," he murmured to the empty folder before closing it. It wouldn't remain empty much longer.

"Mayuri-sama."

Nemu's quiet voice broke the silence of his domain, and he glanced dismissively her way to acknowledge her presence.

"The report?" he required without preamble or politeness.

"The documents have been approved through the first two noble houses."

"Its about time. Where are they now?"

"Running through the second two."

Next would be the last two houses, then the senate of elected Shinigami, back through the houses, then the Captains, the senate again… and then to the Spirit King himself for finalization and approval, unless he relegated the task to the Soutaichō instead. Mayuri swallowed a sigh. There were still so many hoops to pass through. Months of waiting… biding his time…

Well, he could wait. As a scientist, he was used to waiting. It didn't make the task any more bearable, but when he finally got his results, they would be all the sweeter.

Nemu still stood behind him, a silent, pale specter with emerald eyes. He waved her away contemptuously, desiring to be left alone.

"Leave me, and notify me again once its passed through the second noble convene."

"Yes, Mayuri-sama."

She bowed her head deferentially and left just as unobtrusively as she'd arrived. Just how he'd made her to behave. She wasn't a bad girl, and he didn't feel as callous towards her as he treated her, but he wouldn't bother himself to show her unnecessary kindness. She was a Fukutaichō of the Twelfth, not some child to be coddled. She could handle herself, and… he suspected she was like him. If given the leeway, she would turn disobedient and become her own person. She needed to be suppressed and trodden down.

The image of a certain messy haired, blonde former Captain flitted through his mind, and Mayuri scowled, closing those dark days out of his memories. He wasn't a maggot rotting in that festering nest anymore. No need to dwell on what lay in the past…

He tried, and failed, to convince himself of this argument. Grinding his gold plated teeth, Mayuri pulled up another screen.

* * *

**A/N:**

ZOMG! Really? Another update so soon? Yes. You aren't hallucinating; I really did update... four days after my last chapter? Yeah. Some freakishly short number like that.

Well, now you see that chapter length directly corresponds to update time. It isn't a linear function since there are more variables influencing how fast I get these things up, like how much crap I'm working on, how many people are distracting me via IM chatting over skype/gmail, or how needy my roleplays are. The reason you got this one so quickly is due to two things: A) Its the short Mayuri POV chapter I promised awhile back. I finally got back to Soul Society, which I forgot to warn you guys about. B) ... I'm cut off from a stable internet source. *Sob* I'm currently on a PC where the internet loads about half the time. I miss my wifi connection. ;~; Oh well... I only need to tolerate this for two more weeks. Then my internship ends. In the mean time, I'm going to be bored as hell with a lot of downtime, so you'll probably see me update again soonish. If not for this fic, then another. But I won't neglect FP so badly ever again. (Hopefully... *Shot*)

I am aware that there are plenty of Mayuri haters out there, but I am not one of them. In fact, I love Mayuri. I think he's a really unique and fun character. He's abusive, sadistic, egocentric, and a sociopath, yes. But you know what? So is Szayel. If you try to deny it, you're only raising double standards. It makes them both really fun to roleplay. That said, I expect some "OMG Mayuri is such a bastaaaaard." reactions. And that is perfectly normal and I'm not going to flame you for your opinion, because it took some time for him to grow on me as a character. I didn't really start liking him until he killed Szayel in the series. just as I didn't really start caring about Szayel until after he died. But just so you know, I don't hate him. He makes an awesome antagonist/questionable protagonist in the series. Yeah. Long A/N is long. Sorry bout that.

As a side note, I may start going back and editing this series later. So if there is a time when you get a lot of alert messages simultaneously for this fic, disregard them. R&R as always! You guys are sweet~ I feel honored to have such wonderful readers. (To those of you who follow this series but don't comment, and I know you are out there 'cause I can see the statistics and I do track trends, shame on you. Jk. Thanks for reading anyways.)


	14. Revelations

He was warm. And comfortable. Not a plush, enveloping comfort, but a pleasant solidity that made him feel secure. It might have been an alien sensation if it didn't feel so distantly familiar, like a primordial memory that had become ingrained as instinct. Murmuring sleepily, he snuggled closer to that source of warmth, his face brushing loose cloth.

Something about this feeling triggered alarm bells. It wasn't right… Szayel opened his eyes, blinking, then froze as he was faced with the waking sight of Nnoitra's chest underneath him.

"W-what?" he stuttered, wide eyed and confused. His head felt fuzzy. Why was Nnoitra here on his couch? This was his couch, right? All of a sudden he wasn't so sure.

Nnoitra opened his eyes, roused to wakefulness by his incoherent panic, and grinned up at him sleepily.

"Mornin'" he mumbled, yawning, then: "God I've wanted to be able to say that to you for so long."

Szayel felt his face heat as he moved to climb off of him, but found their clothes wouldn't separate. They were encrusted together by a layer of dried blood. All of a sudden, he recalled the circumstance that had landed them both in his suite.

"Oh…" he said, and began to fumble with his shirt, finally succeeding in separating them. He sat up, still straddling Nnoitra. It was impossible not to; he took up the whole sofa. As if remembering the whole unpleasant event that had precipitated this one, Nnoitra winced a little, plucking at his ruined costume, which he still wore.

"I need a shower," the bedraggled pirate announced, and hauled himself into a sitting position.

"The shower's over there," Szayel said, pointing to the door that led to his bathroom automatically. Then he hesitated as the significance of what he'd done sunk in. Nnoitra meandered over to it with a mumbled _thanks_, completely unaware of how private the room really was. A sanctuary, built precisely because of his former incarnation, and now he strolled right into it without a second thought. Szayel reflected on his feelings regarding the intrusion as he watched Nnoitra disappear into the bathroom, discovering that while he felt uneasy about sharing one of his most personal rooms with another, it did not pain him as much as he thought it would. This revelation was greeted with a mix of wonder and uncertainty. He didn't have long to reflect however, as Nnoitra called him a moment later.

"Hey, how the hell do you work this thing?"

Szayel slipped off the couch and padded over to the bathroom, passing through it to the shower area. Nnoitra stood naked under the showerhead, glaring up at it as if he could somehow intimidate it into gushing fourth water.

"Too many knobs and dials," he said, gesturing towards the admittedly complicated chrome array set into the wall.

"Well I did design it for myself, so I know how to manipulate it. I never intended for anyone else to have to," Szayel explained as he walked up to it, hand raising the proper lever to get the water flowing. Another twisted a knob to adjust the flow so that the spray broadened to accommodate Nnoitra's larger body. The taller man watched nonplussed as he fiddled with the shower.

"Never considered invitin' anyone over?" he asked.

"The thought never crossed my mind," the scientist replied coolly, "Now what scent soap and shampoo do you want?"

"There're controls for that too?"

"I like my shower organized and without bottles cluttering up the floor."

Nnoitra sighed, a little exasperated by his reply.

"Seems way too complicated to be enjoyable."

"As I said, I know precisely where everything is so… oh… perhaps I should just stay and show you…" Szayel said, giving in. He was already damp from the shower spray.

"Really?" Nnoitra remarked with interest at the pink haired man's change of heart. Szayel stripped off his clingy, stained shirt, throwing it aside.

"Really," he replied, and removed the rest of his clothes before joining him, trying not to get self conscious at the way Nnoitra stared. "Soap?"

"Nothing too flowery," Nnoitra said. In other words, nothing he usually wore. Szayel smirked and adjusted a dial next to the soap pump, exchanging his freesia body wash for a light, citrus scent. Lime and orange perfumed the air as he lathered it between his hands.

"Is that acceptable?" he inquired.

"Yeah," Nnoitra said, reaching past him to take some himself. Their skin brushed briefly, and Szayel was thankful he wasn't quite so jumpy anymore at the fleeting contact. Feeling his hands on his shoulders a moment later wasn't so accidental however, and he looked back at Nnoitra inquisitively.

"What are you doing?" he asked, managing to keep the suspicion out of his voice.

"Washing your back. You better do mine when I finish," he answered, fingers rubbing his skin. Szayel let him work, feeling him scrub his way gently down his spine. He paused midway down however, hands lingering just above his lower back.

"Hey…" he hedged.

"Yes?" Szayel drowsed, at bliss from the warm water running down his body and the agreeable feeling of Nnoitra's hands on his back.

"What is this?"

"What is what?"

"This."

Fingers, long and slim, explored the new anatomical feature they had discovered, and Szayel's eyes flew open with shock. He gasped as he felt those fingers slide in to stroke the wall of his Hollow hole, body jerking as an uncontrollable wave of desire surged through him, turning his legs to jelly. Moaning low and breathily, he felt himself collapse against the wall, only distantly aware of Nnoitra's shouts of alarm and confusion.

"Szayel! Szaye-"

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he was in another place…

Cold, white ceramic tile made up the backdrop of the communal showers, an echo of the monochromatic color scheme that made up the whole of Las Noches. It was such a clinical color, devoid of any emotion. Practical perhaps in somewhere like an operating room where detachment was a necessity, but everywhere else… it was oppressive. One had enough starkness in the black and white canvas of Hueco Mundo's desert without replicating that hopeless feel indoors.

He found as he soaped his body and hair in the chilly predawn that he did not mind this color scheme in the baths so much. They were not something he was remotely attached to, and the distant feel suited his opinion of them just fine. They were an unpleasant necessity, not a pleasure. Sighing, he turned on the tap, feeling the water run down his back. That cursed, precious water that was the source of his misery. Or part of it at least. The other part he'd managed to work around by showering at odd hours of the day. Like three in the morning. But it was worth it, being able to bathe in privacy.

Szayel was just beginning to relax when he felt the approach of a heavy reiatsu. His spine stiffened as he recognized its owner, mind working frantically as he ran through all his options. Nnoitra walked into the room, towel slung across one shoulder, and stopped at the entrance. He lingered there, silent while Szayel scrubbed at skin still very slippery with soap, and Szayel felt it turn to gooseflesh as he became acutely aware of how the taller Arrancar watched him. He did not know what was worse; being observed wordlessly or the moment when the Quinta decided he'd had enough of merely watching and detached himself from the doorway to glide over to him.

"You're up early. Is this when you've started taking showers, Granz?" he asked, his voice low and amused.

"No. An experiment occupied my time until just a bit ago, so I've only now gotten a chance to bathe today," he replied, the lie flowing effortlessly off his tongue.

"I guess we keep missing each other then," Nnoitra said, coming up behind him. Szayel subconsciously leaned away from him, washing a little faster. His proximity was more than a little disconcerting; he'd just finished with one of his many partners. Szayel could practically smell the sex rolling off him.

"I guess so," said the scientist more calmly than he felt. His pulse skittered when he sensed Nnoitra draw up closer until their skin was almost touching, and shuddered as he felt Nnoitra's breath stir the hair on the nape of his neck.

"I know you've been avoiding me. Now why is that?" the Quinta asked, his voice dangerously smooth.

"Find another shower, Jiruga," Szayel warned, his tone firm, "I'm using this one."

Nnoitra chuckled darkly.

"No," he replied, and shoved his index and middle fingers into his Hollow hole, curving them inside of him and yanking up brutally.

"Ah~!"

Szayel cried out as a wave of agony coursed through him, and intermingled, an electric flare of arousal. His mind went blank and his eyes rolled back as his body crashed forward against the wall, seeking solidity. Nnoitra's fingers twisted inside of him again, pulling a moan from deep within as he writhed against the tile, hips grinding and bucking up into the stone in a desperate attempt at relieving the sudden, uncontrollable urge that seized him. His body was hot, aching; groin and nipples hurting with a primal _need_ to be stroked, used… He panted, groaning as the friction took the edge off his desire, but his thoughts were still clouded with the want.

Nnoitra's body rubbed up against his from behind as he leaned over his shoulder to whisper in his ear sensuously.

"You like that do ya bitch? Look at you, so hot you're tryin' ta fuck the wall. Fuckin' slut. You want me in you so bad right now."

_Oh shit,_ Szayel thought, the first coherent words that formed in his mind as he clawed at the stone tile. _Shit shit shit!_ Nnoitra's tongue laved over the back of his neck as he pushed him into the wall, his other hand moving down to grip his thigh. Szayel mewled in short, panicked gasps as Nnoitra worked his Hollow hole mercilessly, breaking down any resistance before it could form.

"You're so slutty, just beggin' to be taken an' fucked with those clothes," he purred as he drew from him a particularly charged cry, "And your tattoo…" His fingers stroked the place on his inner thigh where he wore the gothic 8 that marked him as one of the Espada.

_No no no!_ he thought, squeezing his eyes shut as Nnoitra pressed into him. _This can't be happening. _But it was. His body was indeed screaming to be fucked even while his mind was panicking, loathing his reaction. _Oh god I'm going to be raped. _The sensation of teeth on his earlobe alternately sent a thrill of desire and a chill of revulsion through him.

In the end, it was one thing that saved him; Nnoitra's own impatience to screw him. Abandoning his Hollow hole, he swept his fingers a little farther down, to another hole. It was a very narrow reprieve. His body still ached and pleaded for what Nnoitra would give him as the searing shocks that ran through him where their bodies touched attested to. But his mind, horrified by what was happening, cleared just long enough to mount a response. With a furious cry, he flipped himself, left hand coming up defensively between them, and shot a cero point blank at his ribs.

It wouldn't kill him, he knew. Wouldn't even injure him badly, because his Hierro was so strong. But it sent him flying back and would hurt quite a lot. There was a circular burn mark on his stomach where it had struck the Quinta.

"You fucking bastard!" he screamed, covering up his own fear and weakness with rage, "Don't you ever try that on me again!"

Beneath the bravado, he was terrified. He used Sonido as soon as he'd uttered his threat, afraid that Nnoitra would recover before he could escape. When push came to shove, Nnoitra was three ranks higher than him. His spiritual pressure was denser. He wouldn't give him a chance to release his Resurrección, and it didn't matter if he was infected with his cells, not if he was too out of it to manipulate them. That feeling of losing all control over himself… of watching helplessly as his body betrayed him… The scientist nearly stumbled as he choked in horror on the knowledge of what had almost transpired. Reaching his wing, he threw the door open, staggered in, and slammed it shut again. On pure instinct he'd navigated his trapped halls without incident. But now he was here. Now he was back in his own domain where he could control _everything_. He was safe. Not even Nnoitra was fool enough to seek him out here when he wanted to be left alone.

A shuddering sob wracked his chest as relief and despair simultaneously struck him. _Oh god I ceroed the Quinta. He won't let that go. _But he'd had to… the alternative was… _But he's going to be so pissed. How the hell do I face that at meetings?_

This wasn't the end of it. No, it was the beginning of a new, unpleasant reality. He went and got dressed, continuing about his day as normal. And to anyone else, he might have seemed his typical, snarky, narcissistic self. He kept such appearances up especially during the meetings Aizen called, leaving not early but certainly promptly, or else finding an excuse to converse with one of the other Espada on his way out. Anything so as not to be left alone with Nnoitra, and in the end it was probably only he who noticed the difference. And Aizen and Gin perhaps, since nothing seemed to escape their notice…

"-el! Szayel!"

…

He felt familiar hands on his shoulders, shaking him. Someone calling his name. Nnoitra? He squeezed his blank, dead eyes shut and cried out, shoving his hands between them in a panic as he flinched away from the other man. _Not again…_

"Szayel, what the hell is wrong?"

_What…'s wrong?_

_ That _Nnoitra would never ask, because he'd know. He'd be the one instigating it. No, this wasn't a repeat of that time. That event he'd almost managed to forget.

"Nnoitra!" he gasped, throwing himself at the human. His arms snaked around his torso, and his face pressed into his chest as the rest of his body shook, remembering in vivid detail the memory relapse he'd just suffered. Here in the present, the agony was gone, but his body still felt the pangs of arousal that had triggered it. Nnoitra's body stiffened at the wild, unexpected reaction, and he awkwardly reached up to pat the scientist's head in a vaguely reassuring fashion.

"'the fuck?" he mumbled, confused, and Szayel selfishly let him remain so for several minutes as he clung to him and collected his thoughts. When at last he felt a little steadier, he separated from him, looking down at the jade green tile that comprised his bathroom floor. It was difficult to meet his eyes after acting so out of character.

"Give me a moment. I'll… explain," he said.

"Please do. Like what the hell is that hole and what did my touching it trigger? You were moaning like… and then ya went catatonic on me."

Szayel closed his eyes, a hand fluttering up to cradle his temple as he sighed, trying to figure out how to phrase his explanation.

"Its my Hollow hole," he replied, "And wait!" he added, preempting the impatient _what the fuck is that?_ he knew would follow.

Nnoitra waited, if just barely. Grateful, Szayel continued.

"You recall my childish analogy of what I was when we first met? A corrupted soul that turned into a bad, nasty soul eating monster? That was a very rudimentary example of a Hollow. Now, you'll have to take a leap of faith with me on what I say next. There is a chain, called the chain of fate, connecting your soul to your corporeal body. When it breaks, you die. Or rather… it breaks when you die and you become just a soul. In this state, a Shinigami comes and performs soul burial, which transports you to Soul Society, and it is there where you reside in one of the many districts until you reincarnate. Yes, Shinigami exist. Arrogant assholes in my opinion, but I digress.

The other possibility is that you are not purified and become a Hollow. In a normal soul, the chain of fate remnants disappear upon the funeral rites a Shinigami performs. In a Hollow, that chain degrades and consumes itself painfully, and when the last link is devoured, a hole fully opens in the chest where it once connected to the soul. The soul then becomes a Hollow, and gains a new appearance based greatly on personality as well as a mask that covers its face and conceals its former identity, for the face of a Hollow is the same as its human soul.

I, however, am not a Hollow. I am what is called an Arrancar, as I told you before. Aizen gave me a fixed form more powerful than that of my Hollow identity. In this shape, I lost most of my mask; these glasses I wear are actually a part of me. I cannot remove them. Part of my power was sealed into my sword; my Zanpakuto. And my Hollow hole changed location to its current spot, just above my groin.

As for the holes themselves, they are the most sensitive part of our bodies. Our Achilles' heel if you will. Hurt them, and the agony is crippling, but they are… sensitive in other ways as well, as you found."

Nnoitra absorbed all this quietly, waiting until he finished before saying anything. And when he did, it was with a bluntness the scientist found refreshing.

"So why did you go catatonic?"

"I… was remembering something unpleasant," Szayel replied.

"My touching you there triggered a memory."

"Yes."

Nnoitra was silent for a moment, but his lips tugged down into a scowl and his expression darkened.

"What did I do to you?" he finally asked in clipped tones.

"What?" Szayel said, caught off guard.

"What did 'Nnoitra Jiruga' do to you?" he repeated, elaborating, and Szayel frowned, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

"Nothing! I never said your past incarnation did it."

"Don't lie," Nnoitra said, a note of belligerence touching his voice, "I know there was history between you centering around the baths, and you were flinching away from me when you came to. You were whimpering in fear. God damn it what did I- he, do?"

"Alright!" Szayel cried, caving. He turned aside, frustrated that Nnoitra insisted on digging and uncovering old wounds. "It _was_ you… him. And if you must know, he tried to ra-" He stumbled over the words, then shook his head angrily and forced himself to finish, "He tried to rape me. Ok? Happy?"

"No…" he said, sounding subdued now that he'd gotten his answer. Szayel glanced sidelong at him for his expression, crossed arms tightening, and discovered that he looked as if he was in shock. His face was blank and a little pale.

"How…" he began, then shook his head slightly like a dog clearing water from its fur, "What was our relationship?"

Szayel's mouth quirked into a sardonic half smile.

"You said it yourself when we first met; it was a love hate relationship," he said.

"How," he repeated, "How was that ever the first?"

"It was most certainly onesided," the Arrancar offered.

"I can see that! But how could you like him? Given what he did? And that's just one incident. What else happened? What other fucked up shit did my past incarnation do?"

"Nnoitra…"

"Who am I? To you, who am I?"

"It doesn't matter!" Szayel shouted, losing his temper. He didn't want to have this conversation, didn't want to be interrogated about certain details of his past he'd rather consign to oblivion. "It's in the past, it doesn't concern you. Forget about it!"

"It's my past," he retorted, voice smoldering with leashed anger. Szayel shuddered, hunching his shoulders.

"You're… not the same person…" he finally muttered weakly, "You're different."

"Am I?" Nnoitra asked cruelly, "Am I? Or am I just his substitute?"

"I like you so stop asking already!" Szayel flung back.

"Then answer me this. Something's been bugging me. I just remembered, you said I look exactly like him. Except I've got both eyes. Where was my Hollow hole?"

Szayel swallowed, wincing. He could see where this was going. Damn Takeda for being so acute.

"Your left eye…" he mumbled.

"The eye I wore an eyepatch over?"

"… yes."

There was a weighty pause as Nnoitra assimilated this piece of information, then his mouth curved into a bitter smirk.

"Knew it," he remarked with deceptive levity, "Fuckin' knew it. Eyepatch fetish indeed."

Szayel gave a frustrated cry and whirled around, banging a fist against the wall. A spiderweb crack branched out from where his clenched hand struck, belying his seemingly weak physiology in this form. Nnoitra watched him throw his fit, wordless, and the silence aggravated his mood more than his words.

"Why do you even care?" he finally asked, hurling barbs, "Why does it even matter to you who you are to me? Its still onesided, even now. You want my body? I don't care anymore. I want you too, but I've been holding out on the foolish hope that it wouldn't always be just me. So just fucking do it already. Fuck me, Nnoitra, and leave me alone. Then maybe I can get over you too."

He felt a wetness rolling down his cheeks that only intensified as he realized it wasn't the shower water. He was crying. In front of Nnoitra. He wasn't supposed to be crying; he was supposed to be angry and confident and self righteous. But here he was, leaning against the wall of his bathroom, tears rolling down his face with no sign of stopping anytime soon. He found he was too emotionally drained to even hate himself for being so weak.

"I don't want to love you…" he muttered brokenly, the words muffled through his crying.

"You're a moron, Szayel," he heard Nnoitra say behind him, his tone rough and still emotional from his outburst. _I know,_ he thought angrily, _I know. You don't have to remind me._

Hands pulled him away from the wall, turned him so they faced each other. He appeared indistinct to the scientist, whose eyes were blurred by liquid, a fuzzy silhouette in the lighting of the bath. Szayel felt warm lips press to his, and he kissed back passionately, seeking distraction from the heavy melancholy that bore down on him. There were no doubts, no hesitations in his body as he allowed Nnoitra free range, even encouraging his explorations as he leaned into his touch and let his own fingers roam his back to pick out the planes of his muscles and ridges of his spine. He'd given up on everything. Given in to instinct and desire and consigned the consequences that would follow to the distant future. He'd hurt all the more later looking back on this moment, but for now, he refused to think about all that. He'd take what he could get now.

Nnoitra growled against his mouth and he opened it with a groan, inviting him in. No, demanding him to enter. He moved his hips in a rolling motion, drawing attention to them, and Nnoitra obliged, hands skillfully working him as he moved his own pelvis against his. He felt himself braced against the wall, then his legs lifted so they dangled over his waist, and Szayel wrapped them around his hips, straddling them as he was lifted and his body crushed against Nnoitra's. His lips separated as Nnoitra's mouth found his chest and that damnably glorious tongue swept over his skin, dragging a heated moan from him. The smaller man curved backwards, face tilted up to the ceiling in an expression of ecstasy as the shower water sprinkled it gently. His damp hair brushed his shoulders, a curtain of dark pink.

"Nnoitra…" he breathed as his fingertips dug into the flesh of his shoulder blades, and the other man rumbled something back.

Then a spasm ran through Nnoitra's body, and he felt himself lowered suddenly. Confused, he looked up to him for an explanation, and met with a distressing sight. Nnoitra was gritting his teeth, holding one shoulder to staunch the flow of blood that had reopened from his recent bullet wound. It blossomed around his fingers, bleeding crimson as it ran down his arm and dripped off to vanish down the drain.

"Shit…" he cursed at his injury, eyes narrowed in pain and a little fear. The blood flow showed no signs of slowing, close to the surface because of the heat from the water. If left untreated, he was in real danger of bleeding to death.

Szayel's melancholy and desire vanished in an instant, replaced by concern.

"Oh my god, I should have put sutures in at least."

He tugged Nnoitra away from the shower, flicking off the hot water as they left. A line of blood and pink tinted water followed their progress across the floor. Szayel fetched a fluffy white towel and passed it to Nnoitra to staunch the blood, not caring that he'd have to throw it away later. Wrapping one around his own waist, he ordered him to stay put.

"I'll be back in a moment," he said, and left the room.

The scientist didn't keep much medication on him because he wasn't built the same way as humans. He didn't need it for the most part, however, Nnoitra did. Accessing his intercom, he contacted Lumina and Verona.

"I need you two to bring me some Regro gel and a set of casual clothes in Nnoitra's size, though my first request takes priority."

He stood there by the sink, waiting for them to bring him what he'd requested, and reflected on his feelings.

He'd told Nnoitra to take him… to get it over with so he could get the lanky man and his ever-present grin out of his head… but he couldn't. He couldn't do it. He cared too much already. Just seeing Nnoitra bleed, he knew he wouldn't be able to give him up so easily. It was like a drug addiction, his relationship. Unhealthy, onesided, and ultimately painful. He was losing himself; the recovery would take years, agonizingly gradual. And as long as Nnoitra lingered, he wouldn't let go because there would always be that tantalizing possibility.

Szayel understood why humans immortalized love in songs at that moment. Why, along with death, the race seemed so singularly obsessed with it. Because it was all-consuming. It consumed you while you were caught up in it, helpless and hopelessly enslaved, and even when it let you go, it kept a part of you. He would never be completely whole again.

There came a knock on the door, then rustling footsteps as the twins left, and by the time he opened it, they were gone from the suite. On the floor sat two items; a stack of clothes and a jar of blue gel. He picked this up and carried it with him back into the shower room. Nnoitra still stood where he'd left him, holding the white towel to his shoulder, though by now rosettes of crimson had bloomed through the pristine cloth. He removed this, letting his fingers spark pink.

"This will sting just a bit," he warned softly, "I'm going to cauterize the veins."

Nnoitra flinched when he inserted his index finger into the wound, burning the broken blood vessels shut. The scent of seared flesh wafted up as he opened the jar, and an astringent smell replaced the first. He scooped up a gob of it and smeared it into the wound. It would firm up to the approximate consistency of flesh in a few minutes, filling the gap and sealing it from outside infection. The gel contained a cocktail of painkillers, antiseptics to kill bacteria, and hormones that would trigger his body to regrow the skin and muscle cells while preventing the formation of scar tissue. His body would metabolize the gel as it regenerated itself, eventually leaving nothing behind but whole skin. Szayel watched it solidify while he capped the jar and wiped the excess gel that remained on his fingers onto the towel already stained with blood. It was certainly colorful now, red white and blue.

"That'll take a month to heal," he informed him, "So try not to put stress on the arm. The gel is resilient, but it can still split, and that will delay your recovery even longer. My Fracción also brought you a set of replacement clothes, so those are waiting outside the bathroom for when you want them."

"Hey," Nnoitra said when he made as if to leave, "You're goin'?"

Szayel sighed, stopping.

"I really shouldn't stay. I've proven to myself that when it comes to you, I let my emotions get the better of me. And I am unaccustomed to dealing with such a surge."

"Well I know for a fact I won't be able to use the bathtub," Nnoitra said flatly, practicality cutting through his vacillations.

"You want to bathe?" Szayel asked.

"Look, maybe ya don't know better, but having your own shower in this city is a luxury. It's so cramped for space, you have to be rich or have old wealth and property passed down. Having your own hot tub? Unheard of for anyone in the middle class or lower, since they take up so much room. Of course I won't pass up the chance."

It hadn't occurred to Szayel that bathing privacy wasn't a right. Somewhere in his mind, he'd seen his experience in Las Noches as a form of persecution. A loss of rights. But it seemed in Japan, that was not the case. No, of course it wasn't. Now that he thought of it, communal bathhouses were ingrained in their cultural identity. He was the odd one out.

"I won't bring anything up or pull any shit on you, Szayel. I think I've had enough angst for one mornin'," Nnoitra said, laying to rest any lingering hesitations. "Truce?"

Szayel combed a hand through his still damp hair.

"Very well. You have your olive branch, Nnoitra. But finish showering first; I don't want you confusing my bath. Its sensitive to the scents on your body, and I'm not quite sure what it will make of blood. Worse, I dread to imagine what it would try to complement that with. Pomegranate perhaps?"

"Dark chocolate," said Nnoitra decisively, and turned on the water.

"How cliché…" Szayel muttered as the scent of citrus filled the air.

"You know its true," the taller man replied, "And by the way, it's your turn to wash my back."

Szayel bit his lip and took some soap, his stomach fluttering as he was presented with that broad expanse of muscled back. Tentatively, he ran his soapy fingers over the taut contours of his shoulder blades before he began on him in earnest, somehow resisting the temptation to throw caution to the wind and initiate something himself. Underneath it all, there was a lingering aversion. That memory had stirred more than a temporary, terrified relapse. His hands still lingered over his body, a phantom possibility.

He didn't want to let him go yet. The fear then was of a beginning; the fear now was of an end. When they both slipped into the tub, dripping lime and orange scented water, the bath put forth a calming mint, almost as if it could detect the anxiety he felt. And perhaps it could, but he was in no mood to ponder the particulars of his unique bath. Feeling the soothing warmth seep into his body along with the cooling tingle of the mint oil, Szayel finally began to relax despite his frayed nerves.

-.-.-.-.-.-

"So this is what you've done with all those plants," Nnoitra remarked as he explored the suite. He'd already toweled off and dressed and now walked around his living area, investigating his belongings. Szayel still had a towel around his hips and was busy drying his hair with another.

"Everything looks so neat. Elegant. Dang, and the accents… Looks nothing like a bachelor pad."

"I have never understood how one can surround themselves in slovenliness. And as I don't form personal attachments, I do not have sentimental bric 'a brac cluttering my home. When I tire of something, I get rid of it; thus, everything is precisely how I want it to look," Szayel replied as he hung the slightly damp towel on a hanger and strode over to his closet.

"So if I gave you somethin' pointless, would you keep it or chuck it?" Nnoitra asked as he leaned in to finger a vanilla vine he'd managed to coax into growing. He'd had to turn up the heat in his suite to manage it, thus giving it a tropical feel.

"That… depends," Szayel said, hesitating a little, "After all, I kept the plants, didn't I? If it enhances or at least doesn't detract from my living space, then I will keep it."

"No tourist souvenirs or charms for you then. Oh wow, you have an aquarium. I didn't expect you to take me up on that suggestion."

"They do not require affection from me, and I have my Fracción handle maintenance issues such as cleaning the tank. And they are very beautiful; there are several that fluoresce under blacklight, so when I turn the lights down, they shine in the dark. I will admit that it is rather therapeutic to watch them if I am suffering through a particularly dull meeting."

"Geez, no cats or dogs then either?"

"They are messy, clingy, needy, smelly animals. They shed all over the place, make noise, require patience. I do not tolerate such high maintenance subordinates."

"God Szayel, it's a freaking pet not a servant."

"Same concept," he remarked as he rifled through his extensive array of clothing.

"Actually, I think they're supposed'ta teach you to be more selfless and empathetic."

Szayel's hands stilled and he looked back at Nnoitra incredulously.

"Then I am definitely not a pet person. Fish and plants are ideal because they neither require nor expect a sentimental relationship. They are beautiful to look at, and you do not have to worry about dealing with personality quirks. Humans domesticated animals to be useful to them; they serve my use in being interesting ornaments. Nothing more."

"I swear Szayel, you need a dog or something. It'll give you unconditional love. You don't ever have to worry if it doesn't like you or if it will betray you or-"

"Stop, Nnoitra," the scientist interjected, turning to face him, "I do not suffer from lack of self image or want for devotion as most humans who turn to their pets for affection do. If I want something to kick around, I'll make it myself. Please cease in trying to humanize me."

Nnoitra frowned, but quit in his proselytizing, settling for watching the vibrant fish in their pristine aquarium swim around lazily while Szayel turned back to selecting his outfit. After a few minutes, he meandered over to comment on his progress.

"What's takin' so long?" he asked, standing behind his pink haired partner as he browsed his extensive inventory.

"Deciding what to wear," Szayel replied wearily.

"You aren't even going out in public."

"That is no excuse not to dress well, and as you said, I am not going out in public so I do not have to concern myself with hurrying up in my decision."

Nnoitra _hmm_ed, then reached over him to pick out a shirt.

"This one," he said, taking down a nice white dress shirt with silver hemming, "Wear it."

Szayel blinked, accepting the shirt he dropped into his hands, and held it up to inspect it. The stitchery crisscrossed the background in a pattern of diamonds, not just the cuffs, though it was certainly more pronounced on these. It lent it a shimmery look without actually glittering; a subtle texturing to lend interest to the otherwise simple garment. The buttons up the front were of lapis lazuli. While he contemplated this selection, Nnoitra had already moved past him to pull down a pair of slacks and a blue tie with the same silver stitching as the shirt.

"This is actually something I would wear, Nnoitra," he remarked as he dressed, mildly amused.

"I was surprised you had normal clothes," the human replied with a smirk. Szayel finished buttoning up his shirt and fixed the tie, tugging it into place as Nnoitra handed him a pair of glossy black oxfords. He slipped these on, bending down to lace them up before straightening again.

"You look like a nerd wearing this," Nnoitra said, and Szayel adjusted his glasses in a stereotypically intellectual fashion.

"Well pardon me for being one," he drawled sarcastically, and Nnoitra laughed, leaning in.

"No need for apologies. You're a damn hot nerd."

He captured his lips for a moment, but it wasn't a hungry kiss. It was more playful, and indeed he withdrew after a few seconds.

"So… I guess I won't see you for awhile?" he asked. Szayel shook his head.

"Not for a month or two. To create a gigai that synchs well with my spiritual body and mimics that of a human's as accurately as possible, I must grow it up from a cellular level. And I can only speed up the process so much. Besides, it will be more plausible if I am absent for awhile, seeing as you told Hiroko I took a round of bullets meant to kill."

"You're gonna miss Halloween then?"

"Most likely."

"Shame," said Nnoitra, "I already had your next costume in mind."

"What?"

"A nurse."

"How unimaginative and predictable, Nnoitra. I'm far too intelligent to be a mere nurse. At the very least I'd be a doctor, and even they aren't too bright."

"Dissing our medical system now?"

"Please. I could pass the MCAT dying of bubonic plague."

"Pink haired freak. I bet you could too."

He ruffled his still damp hair, raising a perfumed cloud of citrus and mint, and Szayel didn't protest it if only because he hadn't brushed it yet.

"Life'll be less interestin' without you around," the taller man remarked, and Szayel shoved him out of his closet with an exasperated look.

"I'm positive you'll find some other… outlet in my absence."

"You sayin' I'll cheat on ya?"

"Are you going to claim you won't? Or aren't already?"

Nnoitra looked awkward for a moment.

"Er…" he supplied helpfully. Szayel shoved him harder, thinking of Kimiko.

"Don't answer that by the way," he cut in quickly, feeling a jealous twinge, "I've told you before I don't want to know about your other affairs."

"Right," said Nnoitra, tactfully avoiding the subject as Szayel maneuvered him towards the door, "So see ya in two months?"

"Give or take a few weeks," Szayel replied as he opened the door, and Nnoitra stepped outside, "If you absolutely must contact me in the mean time, go through my Fracción. I'll have them send you their numbers."

"Will do, Szay. See ya when I see ya."

"A most apt expression," Szayel remarked with a faint smile, "Until then, Nnoitra."

He closed the door gently, knowing Lumina and Verona would escort him out unseen, but lingered there for a minute longer with eyes closed. Nnoitra had said in his teasing way that life would be duller without him, but the truth was it was Szayel's life that would be dull. Maddeningly dull. Recollections of the crippling ennui that had plagued him not two months ago sent a shudder of dread through him.

A whisper from beyond the doorway caught his attention, and his eyes snapped open at the phantom words.

_Call me Nobu…_

His hand quickly found the doorknob, and he wrenched it open. The hallway was bare; deserted. Szayel slumped against the doorframe, staring at the empty stretch before him. All in his head then. Just his imagination, overworking. But why those particular words? Pinching the bridge of his nose, he closed the door again and wandered over to his couch, noting with detachment that they'd managed to get bloodstains on this too and the upholstery would have to be changed. Overwhelming in his mind was a single, lucid thought;

_I need to find a new hobby…_

-.-.-.-.-.-

Amazing how time could pass so slowly. The scientist had encountered a new phenomenon in his first two weeks; that not only was it possible for one to be bored to tears and subsequent catatonia, but that it was also possible to be so bored that one was too bored even to rouse themselves to alleviate that boredom. With morbid curiosity, he pondered the human expression "bored to death" and wondered if it had any validity. However, this was an experiment he never had the opportunity to test, for the realization that his plants were wilting dragged him off the cough to see to their wellbeing. And in watering them and coaxing them back to health, he managed to shake off some of the torpor that suffocated him.

He did have things to do; things he knew Nnoitra would never have the spine to and Hiroko did not have the influence to pull. But he did. He'd said before, he would not tolerate his interests meddled in. Retaliation was in line, and such a satisfying task it turned out to be, occupying three of his weeks. He filled the downtime by picking out a fetching shade of dark red upholstery for his couch and painting his walls a lovely soft amber with geometric designs of white that hinted at an almost tribal flair. The green of the vines that trailed down from pots he'd mounted on stone ledges he installed throughout the room added beautifully to the effect, especially the two elegant palms that flanked the couch and the orchid he'd stationed on the mahogany writing desk over by his computer. His collection of tropical fish expanded to include three new vibrant additions.

But none of his remodeling was quite as satisfying as the news of a handful of deaths that reached him those three weeks later:

"Four incidents of bacterial meningitis were reported today. The disease, which kills in a matter of hours from onset, is currently being looked into and the source of the outbreak traced and investigated, as it is a pressing health concern. If you experience symptoms of high fever and an acute headache stemming from the base of the skull, and stiffness of neck, please contact your local health provider. The names of the victims are-"

Szayel clicked off the broadcast smiling, his golden eyes half lidded. The names were inconsequential to him now; they were only four dead souls. Garbage not worth further consideration, bound for Hell. The bacterial meningitis would not be traced back to him or any of his affiliates, but the Black Dragons would know it to be no accident. The very infrastructure of their mob, the four key members; all eliminated in the matter of a day. No warning. It was a devastating disease, agonizingly painful and lethal if not treated swiftly. The victims would watch their own skin corrupt and turn necrotic as the bacteria ate the flesh, their consciousness feverish and fading, unless of course they'd died in their sleep.

Indeed, meningitis was extremely uncommon these days. So uncommon, it had been the perfect choice. Being the bacterial variety, it would not spread beyond his very specific zone of infection. Lack of experience with the disease led to a delayed response, and a delayed response with this disease meant death or permanent disability and disfigurement. _Tempt not the gods of death._ To a gang that had been forewarned via a gruesome message, such an occurrence would not be happenstance. No, it would seem like divine retribution, and thus a very effective form of psychological intimidation. With the core of their organization destroyed and the ordinary members shaken by superstition, they would not rise again. Nnoitra, now spared on two occasions, was untouchable.

Just in case, he'd had his Fracción send him one of his specially fitted shirts a week earlier. An ironic gesture, considering he'd told him they would stay off the underworld market as long as possible. He'd even thoughtfully provided one for Hiroko as well, figuring he might as well cut loose if he was going to play favorites.

It was truly an incredible feeling to set someone up, to manipulate from the shadows the lives of others… to murder, knowing he'd never be caught. A rush similar to the one he'd felt toying with Namikawa. For a moment, he contemplated designing a new disease. The population was increasing again, crowding the cities of the world like a mold colony overgrowing an agar plate. Despite all his advances, their exponential growth could not be sustained forever. Humanity was parasitic; it needed culling, whether or not it wanted to admit it. His advances in technology had indeed been a balm to the suffering world, but far more effective in promoting peace and health had been the plagues he'd set upon the planet to ravage its burgeoning population.

Race was not so much a dividing factor when black, white, and every heritage in between sickened and died in equal droves. Religion was not flaunted above others in the face of the sweeping insensitivity that claimed all without exclusion. He was the great equalizer, in a sick way. The architect of the modern world. And they praised him for it.

Yes, for a moment he considered designing one of his sinister puzzles and watching the world fall to hell. But then he paused. Thought. And realized he couldn't. A wry smile twisted his lips. That wasn't an option anymore, now that he was no longer so impartial.

"Congratulations, Nnoitra. You just saved your species from the sadistic game of a bored shadow dictator."

Saluting empty air, he walked over to his desk and drug out a bottle of rum from one of the drawers. Once he got over his intoxication, he'd have to think up a new pastime.

-.-.-.-.-.-

"Master Granz."

He looked up as Lumina's voice interrupted his thoughts. The male Fracción stood attentively a few meters away, respectful of the bubble of privacy his creator liked to maintain.

"Spit it out, Lumina," he ordered curtly, leaning back in his chair, pen balanced against his lips. The blueprints he'd been sketching on the table lay temporarily abandoned.

"Takeda-san is currently in contact with Verona and requesting to speak with you."

"Nnoitra?"

The Fracción observed how his master's face brightened, the look of intense concentration melting from it as he rose, and nodded, grinning internally at his reaction. Szayel-sama was not easily distracted from his work, until Nnoitra came into the picture.

"Yes, sir."

"Then summon her."

The dark haired man nodded deferentially and departed to fetch his twin, and moments later, Verona entered the room. Without preamble, he strode over to her and pushed her out of her gigai, watching the Arrancar stumble backward as he entered it himself.

"Yes?" he asked, wincing when Verona's voice spoke his words.

"Szayel?" Nnoitra asked, looking puzzled.

"In the flesh… in a manner of speaking. What is it you want?"

"Er… that's kind of freaky. One moment she was herself, then she was you?"

"It's a gigai," Szayel said impatiently, "My Fracción cannot go about invisible in the human world if they are to serve as my proxies. Therefore, I can possess her."

"Oh. That's still pretty freaky."

"Nnoitra, what is it you contacted me about?" Szayel repeated, and Nnoitra rolled his eyes.

"God. Impatient aren't we? I was just wondering how progress on your new gigai was comin' along."

"It still has a few more days," the scientist replied, "Why do you ask?"

"Ah, damn. Well I wanted to know if you'd be able to go to a festival tomorrow evening, but I guess not, eh?"

"Oh."

Szayel blinked and bit his lower lip, considering.

"Actually…" he hedged, "I might have something."

"Really?"

"Yes," Szayel said, frowning slightly, "Another gigai. There is only one problem with it, but… it should suffice for one evening."

"Problem?" Nnoitra asked, sounding curious.

"You'll see. Do not concern yourself overmuch; it won't detract from anything, I promise. Now what is this festival?"

"Oh, it's a traditional one Karakura City puts on every November. Kimonos and lanterns and a parade and all that jazz. I dunno, I thought ya might enjoy it. People set up all sorts of booths, and its fun to go around to them all and see what people are offerin'."

"What time?"

"Festivities start at six and the parade ends at midnight."

"Where do we meet?"

Nnoitra grinned, his face lightening as Szayel settled the date.

"Be down by the beginning of the boardwalk with your flashy parasol or somethin'. I'll find ya."

"Its not that flashy," he protested, defending the honor of his accessory.

Nnoitra smirked.

"See you tomorrow evening," he said, and disconnected. Szayel groused, but wasn't nearly as upset as he pretended. Glancing over at Verona, who waited patiently for him to finish, he promptly stripped off her gigai and tossed it her way, feeling the electric twinges of an improper synch numb his nerves. Possessing a gigai not designed for him did have its unpleasant side effects. She slipped back into her human body and made as if to leave, but a word from him stopped her.

"Wait."

She paused, looking at him expectantly.

"Yes Szayel-sama?"

"I have a task for you, and try not to seem too pleased about it when you hear the details."

"What do you command of me?"

Szayel rubbed his temple in anticipation of what was to come.

"I need… a kimono," he said edgily, "And all that statement entails."

The scientist observed her face, and to her credit, Verona kept her face neutral as she replied, "Of course Szayel-sama." However, she couldn't quite mask the glimmer in her eyes as she turned and left the room. Szayel watched her leave, exhaling. Tomorrow would be a trying evening. With that thought in mind, he went to go dig his gigai out of storage.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Standing there in the twilight, with the light not yet completely faded from the sky but dark enough that visibility was greatly limited to the pools illuminated by one of the many colorful lanterns that decorated the streets, Szayel waited. He felt slightly ridiculous as he spun his parasol gently, for it was absolutely no use to him at night, unless it started raining. It drew a few odd looks he knew; furtive side glances from passersby, but the vast majority that flocked to the festival did not seem to care. The effervescent cheer that pervaded forgave all eccentricities and even encouraged them, as festivalgoers donned painted masks from all walks of lore. It was a night to laugh, not judge.

Szayel watched them pass; a colorful, vivacious stream. Yet standing apart from them, he neither felt a stranger nor claustrophobic as he had at the party. The aura of the festival was a different one. Simultaneously spirited and relaxing. Welcome even, perhaps. So it was when Nnoitra found him and strode over to him with a smile on his face, he did not startle.

"Szayel, hey!" the tall human called. Szayel turned to greet him as he approached, balancing on his raised wooden clogs.

"Good evening, Nnoitra," he replied, and Nnoitra drew up to him, tilting his head in amusement.

"Decided you like crossdressing after all, eh? I'm not complaining; you look fantastic. Very elegant. Is that a wig?"

"Ah…"

Szayel reached up to touch his hair self consciously. It was much longer than his usual hair, and drawn up into a geisha bun, though he'd allowed a few tresses to hang loose and frame the sides of his face. The kimono he wore was of violet silk and beautifully patterned with sprays of white, orange, and magenta blossoms. The obi was a burnt orange with gold embroidery. Tendrils of green wove between the flowers, contrasting with the predominantly warm color scheme. It was undoubtedly a woman's kimono, and it hugged his slender frame attractively, emphasizing his figure.

"I said there were some problems with it. Differences…" he said, observing how Nnoitra's eyes lingered on the subtle curve of his hips where the kimono tapered to cling around his legs and ankles.

"Differences? You look like more of a woman than ever. Actually, I think you might even be more convincing in this getup. Ha. You're even wearing the false boobs."

Without warning, he reached over and groped his chest playfully, jesting, but his eyes soon widened as he realized his error. The roving hand was back at his side in a flash, and his mouth half opened in confusion.

"'The hell?" he stuttered, and Szayel felt his cheeks heat in mortification. That… had been unexpected, although he probably should have anticipated it. Trying not to stutter himself, he ended up parroting his earlier words.

"I said there were differences…"

"Differences?"

Szayel lowered his parasol, covering his face, which was by now as bright as the lantern he stood beneath.

"I… look more feminine because… well, this body is female," he murmured weakly.

"So you're…?"

"For all intents and purposes a woman, yes. Please do not remind me; the situation is awkward enough for me as it stands."

"Holy shit, Szayel."

He felt long fingers lift his chin, tilting it towards the light, and warm brown eyes examine his face. He saw reflected in their depths the differences he'd observed in his mirror, and knew the changes he now picked up on. The softer planes of his face, no longer so masculinely angled. The rounder, larger eyes and longer lashes. The added fullness to his lips, and the graceful curve of his throat, uninterrupted by the bump of an Adam's apple. Even his voice was slightly higher, though not too different from his typical speaking voice.

"Holy shit," Nnoitra repeated, and Szayel turned away, uncomfortable.

"Staring is rude, Nnoitra," he reprimanded a little sourly, and Nnoitra started as if shaken from a trance.

"Sorry," he said, shaking his head before extending an arm, "Walk and talk?"

Szayel accepted the proffered limb, allowing himself to be led through the river of festivalgoers that promenaded down the boardwalk. Nnoitra waited a minute before asking the question Szayel knew he wanted the answer to. He could see it in his face, they way his mouth pulled down slightly, as if concentrating on something intently.

"So why d'ya have a female gigai that looks like you?" he finally asked, dropping the burning question.

"Because I was attempting to probe the female psyche."

"No perverted motivations?"

Szayel resisted the alternating urge to hide his face as his cheeks flamed brighter or smack him. Instead, he replied in a snappy, waspish tone.

"It was an experiment to determine how best to market products to females that I tried a couple decades back. I made this body genetically similar to myself as a human male, only swapped out the chromosomes and lengthened the hair so I wouldn't have to look at an identical face. The other changes you see were wrought by the female hormones. I spent a month in his body and forced myself to interact in a social setting for the duration of that time. Specifically, I was a visiting college student. It was…" Szayel paused, thinking back on his experience, and winced, "To this day, I am thankful not to be female. There are certain _wonderful_ privileges that come with it I'd rather never experience again. But for what its worth, I can honestly say I understand the psychology of a young woman better than I would care to, and subsequently, I was able to dominate competitors in that field as well."

"Hold on, you went about like this for a whole month?"

"That I did."

"In a dorm with other girls?"

"That would follow."

"Bathing?" Nnoitra asked.

"There was a shared shower in the dorm, though occasionally I would be dragged off to a bathhouse as well, yes."

"So you saw them-"

"Obviously Nnoitra! What do you think? We bathed in our underwear?" Szayel snapped testily, and Nnoitra smirked.

"No, but that sounds kinda sexy too."

The pink haired Arrancar scowled and smacked his shoulder hard, and Nnoitra winced, rubbing it ruefully.

"God, sorry. Don't be so violent. What, ya PMSing?"

Szayel stiffened, his amber eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Don't. Even. Fucking. Joke," he threatened through clenched teeth, and Nnoitra had the grace to look shocked.

"Woah wait, no joke? That too?"

"Yes…" he groaned, one hand cradling his forehead while the other subconsciously brushed his lower stomach, "Everything. It was an experiment for the sake of science and good profit that is now thankfully concluded."

"Everything?" he asked in that damnably suggestive tone of his, and Szayel spun around and slapped him across the cheek, seething.

"No, not _everything_ you perverted piece of shit!" he hissed, quite riled up by this point, "But close enough! Now drop it before I drop _you_ where it hurts in public!"

Nnoitra touched his stinging cheek, looking stunned for a moment, then smirked. If he was the type to nosebleed, Szayel got the impression he would be at that instant.

"Daaaamn. Bitch slapped. Violent female."

Szayel made a frustrated sound and turned his back on the taller man.

"I am not female. I am still male," he reminded him irritably as he spun his parasol rather wildly to vent.

"In a female body. With female hormones."

"And what does that matter! If I'd known you'd be an asshole about it, I wouldn't have come."

He sped up, but his outfit wouldn't let him walk very fast, and Nnoitra easily caught up to him. Szayel curled his lip in disgust, turning his head away, but Nnoitra only switched sides to catch his eyes.

"Hey look, I'll stop interrogating you about your gender swap, 'kay? Lets just enjoy the festival together," the human said semi seriously. The scientist frowned, still irritated, but nodded.

"Fine. But I want you to know this isn't easy for me, alright? And so far, you've done a wonderful job of aggravating the situation."

"Sorry," he said, arms snaking around his chest from behind as he kissed the top of his head.

"You say that so easily. You don't really mean it," he muttered, but didn't try to pull away. Nnoitra's lips lingered in his hair a moment longer before he released him, only to tug him over to the first of the cheerfully lit stalls.

"Fine then. I issue your masculinity a challenge it can't turn down. We're going to pig out on festival food, and you don't get to complain about the amount."

"And I suppose I'll be covering that cost?" Szayel remarked dryly as Nnoitra sidled up to a takoyaki vendor. He looked down, amused.

"Nah. Food's on me," he said, and just to prove it, paid while he shoved a boxful of steaming takoyaki balls into his hands. "Eat."

Szayel stared at the pile, then looked up at him.

"You aren't going to help me?" he asked as he watched his companion buy another.

"Got my own. Ya gonna wimp out on me now?"

Szayel scowled and popped the first one into his mouth, chewing.

"Sadist," he grumbled.

"Nah Szay, that's you," was Nnoitra's cheerful reply as he hauled him off to the next stall.

He didn't jest either. Szayel was made to consume three sticks of dango, green tea mochi, yakitori skewers, a bowl of ramen, an pan, onigiri of various fillings, and meat buns, not to mention western fare such as an elephant ear. By the time he'd somehow managed to finish off the fried pastry and lick the remaining cinnamon and sugar off his fingers, he was ready to pass out from a food coma.

"I'll give ya'a break," Nnoitra offered generously in response to his breathy moan.

"The human stomach is built to expand to accommodate only two liters, Nnoitra," he replied weakly, "I think you're really pushing that limit."

"Lightweight," he teased, but allowed the smaller man to lean against him while he walked them over to a bench on the boardwalk. They stared out over the water, which shimmered with the reflected lights of lanterns strung along the bows of the ships that lay moored there.

"You're just a pig," Szayel protested darkly, closing his eyes. All his blood was rushing to his stomach to digest the meal he'd just consumed, and he felt a little lightheaded.

"Hey," Nnoitra nudged him in the ribs, "Don't fall asleep on me yet; its only eight o clock."

"I wont…" the scientist promised reluctantly, "Just let me sit here for a bit."

"Pansy."

Szayel didn't even have the heart to mutter a threat, only grunted in a somewhat irritated fashion.

"Fine. Be surly. But at least talk. How have ya been? What've you been up to while you haven't had the opportunity to stalk me? Done anything of note recently?"

Szayel grumbled indistinctly and was rewarded with another rib nudge. He batted the offending elbow away, opening his amber eyes to look up at his tormentor.

"Heard about the meningitis outbreak?" he asked, purposefully picking a potentially sensitive topic.

"Oh shit, that _was_ you?" Nnoitra said, eyes widening a little.

"Yes. They won't be bothering you again."

Nnoitra shook his head, disbelieving.

"You always take things to the extreme," he remarked.

"Not to the extreme," Szayel objected, "The necessary. They were threatening an investment of mine, so I eliminated them. It's just good business."

"An investment? So I'm an investment?"

"Of time and emotion, and I'm an 'interest' to you. Oh do stop whining Nnoitra; it's hypocritical," Szayel said wearily.

"You're goddamn scary is what you are, and would be even if you were human."

"Humans are terrifying creatures as well. Sometimes I believe more terrifying than Arrancar. Is my masculinity resolved now?"

"Well ya know what they say… revenge is a bitch."

"Shut up."

"Shut me up."

Szayel looked up into Nnoitra's face with a start, surprised to see it slightly serious. He wasn't smirking or gloating or otherwise looking how he would have expected him to at that moment.

"Pardon?" he asked. Nnoitra's face remained strange for a moment longer, then morphed into the grin he'd grown used to seeing.

"I said shut me up," he said playfully. Szayel gave him an odd look, still caught off guard by his unfathomable expression from a minute earlier.

"Refrain from uttering such an ambiguous order that may be interpreted multiple ways, or I may just take you at your word, Nnoitra. Or rather, my interpretation of that word."

"Aww, don't be so bitchy, Szay. I was kidding," he said. Szayel pursed his lips.

"Liar."

"So what else have you done, other than murder my would be assassins?"

"Well, I did do some remodeling."

Nnoitra snorted, then laughed out loud, unable to hold it back.

"Oh god, that's just so you. Like those one of those chic supervillans, all 'Gahaha world domination!' one second and the next fretting over getting their Giorgio Armani suit dirty. All you're missing is the cat."

"At least we have fashion sense."

"You're such a girl, ya know? Even without the gigai."

"Hmph. I also got back to inventing just so you know."

"Oh? What'cha workin' on now?"

"Just a pet project. I was sketching out the preliminary design yesterday. It's another amusement park ride; a free fall chamber."

"Sounds fun."

"It will probably never be approved, because if it ever fails, there are no safety measures to protect the rider. As I said, its just a pet project to occupy time."

"Seems like a waste if you don't do anything with it."

"Of all my inventions that you see, there are thousands, no, millions more that never made the cut, Nnoitra. Part of science is experimenting and building faulty models and seeing what works and what doesn't. Those failures then evolve and become successes and remain obscure to the public, but they are crucial nonetheless. An old… nemesis for lack of a better word once told me it is impossible to be both a scientist and perfect, and much as it pains me to concede him a point, he was correct. The process I go through to bring each new invention to life is oft fraught with failure and difficulty. It is not perfect, nor am I. But I make my work as close to that ideal as possible without actually crossing that line. Therefore, my idle inventing is not a waste. Someday I may reuse the blueprints I discard tomorrow for something truly ingenious. Until then, it remains possibility."

His words seemed to have a sobering effect on their overall mood, and they sat in silence for a few minutes. Nnoitra appeared thoughtful, only stirring when Szayel closed his eyes again.

"C'mon. Gotta keep movin'."

Szayel sighed and allowed Nnoitra to pull him to his feet, swaying slightly on his raised clogs. The worst of his feeling of bloatedness had passed, and walking wasn't nearly as painful as it had been half an hour ago.

The taller man pulled him through the clusters of people dressed in bright, patterned kimonos and darker garb alike. Laughter brightened the air all around them, as plentiful as the glowing globes that hung on strings from the multitude of stalls. Children ran underfoot, navigating the human labyrinth with wild grins and bags of sweets and ribbons streamers fisted in their sticky hands. Szayel watched them as they passed, as if they were specimens of some exotic breed of animal. Nnoitra caught his staring and slowed for a moment to observe his face.

"Kids," he remarked, and Szayel looked up at him questioningly, "You like 'em? You don't strike me as the type."

"No, but where I used to live, children were very unusual. Arrancar very rarely have children. In fact, I'm not entirely certain it is possible, or if it is… it is difficult to conceive. So it is interesting to watch them at least, as it is new to me."

"You must've had a childhood though, right?"

"When… I was human, yes. But that was so long ago I do not remember. Memories of our lives as humans fade, for some more than others. That is because Arrancar are not singular entities; we are thousands of souls contained in one body. I happen to be the dominant consciousness."

Nnoitra looked nonplussed at his explanations, even a little blank.

"So... you're not yourself and you don't have a childhood. Shit, you just keep on getting weirder."

"I am myself," Szayel protested, "Does my past change who I am now?"

"I suppose not," Nnoitra admitted, still seeming a little disturbed, but a flash of inspiration sparked in his eyes. "Although, since ya don't remember anythin', we're gonna have to take a crash course in it."

"What?" Szayel asked, quirking an eyebrow in puzzlement.

"Games," Nnoitra declared, and tugged him towards the game booths.

A paper paddle was promptly thrust into his hands, and he gazed down at it uncomprehendingly as Nnoitra led him towards a tank of water.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" he inquired, holding it up to the light to better examine it. It was composed of a thin sheet of paper over a wooden loop; a very simplistic device.

"There are fish in the pool, stupid. Pick one and try to scoop it out. If you win, you get to keep it."

Szayel glanced down into the water and discerned the graceful shapes swimming in the water.

"What's the point? I already have an aquarium full of them at home," he remarked. Nnoitra rolled his eyes at him.

"It's a game. It's fun. It's not supposed to have a point. Ya know, some of the best things in life don't have a point."

"Everything has a point," Szayel objected.

"Just scoop the damn fish."

Frowning, Szayel knelt and eyed the fish swimming in the water. They were young koi, about the size of goldfish, and most wore the familiar orange, white, and red mottling. However, there were a few oddities here and there; an albino koi with pink eyes, a solid orange one with a yellow stripe down its back and on the tips of its fins. And then there was a black one with pale eyes and a silver dot on its head. He felt drawn to the striking coloration on this one, and concentrated on it as it swept the pool lazily. Angling the paper paddle, he waited until it was beneath him and flipped the paddle under its belly.

The paper broke and the fish escaped through the ring, splashing him across the face as it reentered the water. He stared at the black fish, mouth agape as it swam away impertinently, then down at his broken instrument.

"Wha-?" he mouthed.

"Tough luck," said the booth owner.

"Want to try again?" Nnoitra asked with a smirk. He shoved another paddle into his hand before Szayel even had a chance to reply. Szayel raised it again, waiting, only to meet with similar results when he tried to capture his prize. Nnoitra handed him a third scoop, looking gleeful as Szayel's face twisted into a scowl of concentration.

Ten minutes later, and with a growing mound of broken scoops by his ankle, Szayel was completely absorbed in his game. Nnoitra watched his pink haired date hunch over the fish pool, golden eyes fixed on their prey with a hunter's intensity. He nibbled his lower lip unconsciously, an endearing quirk he probably wasn't aware he indulged whenever he was focused on something intently. His left hand angled in a practiced motion; graceful but with a sinuous tension that betrayed the energy coiled in that seemingly delicate arm. Szayel was having fun, of a sort, and it was amusing to see him worked up over something so "pointless." Nnoitra admired the exposed curve of his neck, taut with anticipation; he so rarely revealed it, as if he sought to hide his body. Yet the clothes he wore clung so tightly, they left little to the imagination. Just enough to tease, really. He was a paradox.

Szayel hissed the moment before he struck. Quick as a flash, he slid the paper paddle under his nemesis and flipped the black fish out of the water- and this time the paddle did not break. It flopped into his lap, gasping for oxygen, and the booth owner quickly came over with a bag of water. He dropped the elusive koi into the bag, tied it with a ribbon, and presented it to Szayel.

"Here Miss. Finally got him, eh? Ha! It's good to see a determined young lady like yourself."

Whatever Nnoitra had been expecting, he didn't see. Szayel's face was suffused in a giddy light of triumph, his cheeks flushed pink with his victory. He did not frown in distaste at the damp spot on his kimono where the koi had landed, nor did he appear miffed at being mistaken for female. (Though in this form it wasn't exactly a mistake.) No. Instead, he raised his prize victoriously and smiled; a rare, candid smile. Free of sarcasm or guile.

"Got the little bastard," he crowed, as pleased as any ten year old, and Nnoitra found himself smiling back.

"Told ya it was fun. Now how about we find somethin' else?"

Szayel rose, eager now.

"Like what?" he asked, sounding genuinely interested.

"We'll just have to see."

They flitted from booth to booth for the next two hours, playing as many games as they could find, rigged or not. Some Szayel excelled at, especially those that required a precise hand and an eye for angles. Others he had to try at, and it was these that absorbed him obsessively until he got a feel for the trick behind them and subsequently mastered them. By the end of their spree, Szayel towed quite an assortment of prizes ranging from plush animals to streamers to sticks of incense. And Nnoitra of course was enlisted in carrying them. It was the taller man who was forced to beg for a break this time, though he did so tactfully.

"Hey, Szay. Why don't we drop by Hiroko's stall?"

The pink haired man- woman –paused, blinking large, amber eyes.

"Hiroko's stall? She's here?" he asked, surprised.

"Most of the small shop owners are; it's traditional to sell your wares at the festival. It's just about the only time the big corporations are expressly banned from selling or advertising. All these stalls you see are individual businesses or artisans, though the game booths are put on by the city. Funds from those go towards next year's parade and decorations and such. So, wanna stop by and say hello?"

"Sure."

Nnoitra seemed to have some sort of innate tracking device, for he never lost himself in the crowd. In a matter of minutes, they stood before a familiar face, who busied herself behind the makeshift counter of her booth. In the back, two of the more charismatic members of her organization assisted, but all three of them looked up when they arrived. Only a flicker in her eyes betrayed her surprise.

"So you're the one Takeda weaseled out of work tonight to see. Good to have you back, Granz; tall and lanky here's been moping."

"Hiroko," said man complained.

"San," she reminded, twisting a washcloth threateningly.

"He's been moping?" Szayel asked, leaning in conspiratorially.

"Two months with him getting none? This is Takeda we're talking about. I would certainly think so."

Szayel felt his face color. Behind him, Nnoitra laughed.

"I-we-" he stuttered, caught off guard by Hiroko's comment, and the woman quirked an eyebrow questioningly.

"Takeda?" she inquired of her employee. He grinned, draping himself over Szayel's shoulders, having set his pile of prizes aside.

"His ass is still virgin," he said, smacking it lightly. Szayel glowered back at him.

"Oho? You two still haven't done anything? Takeda, you're losing your touch."

"Mrs. Hiroko! You needn't encourage him!"

"On the contrary, I think I do," she crooned, smirking, "You're a good catch, and looking particularly effeminate tonight if I might add. How _are_ you restraining yourself, Nobu?"

"With great difficulty," he replied as one of his hands snaked down to his groin. Szayel yelped as he felt fingers brush him through the cloth of his kimono. His nerves skittered at this new sensation as a tingling started between his legs, and his cheeks turned even redder as he registered his gigai's reaction.

"Nnoitra," he warned, tone severe. The taller man sighed, but obligingly moved his hand back up, wrapping his arms around his chest instead. Hardly an improvement, but this at least did not make him feel so hot.

"Love life aside, it's good to see you're well recovered Mr. Granz. I'll take the opportunity to thank you now for saving our Takeda again, even heavily injured."

"Of course, Mrs. Hiroko. It is my duty. As long as I'm attached to him, I'll see to it he remains alive."

"No need to worry about the Dragons though; their mob is defunct."

"I am well aware."

She looked him in the eye, silent for a moment, then nodded.

"To be honest, I suspected as much. Even while hospitalized, you still get your way. The shirts were appreciated as well. Nobu told me the significance behind them."

"You are a high risk figure Hiroko-san, as you are not only mob Mistress but a public figure, exposed at all hours of the day."

"How considerate of you," she remarked sarcastically, grinning.

"Not at all. I'm merely looking out for my investments as I already told Nnoitra."

"That's more like it," the woman said, straightening, "Now why don't you drop off your things like Takeda already has and get back to the festival? The parade should be starting soon."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Nnoitra replied as he let Szayel go to set the last of his winnings next to the others.

"Have some _fun_, kiddies," she called to them as Nnoitra led him away, and there was no replacing the suggestion in her words.

"Perverted old woman," he muttered. Nnoitra's smile widened. Szayel cut him off with a cold look.

"No," he said, and skipped out of Nnoitra's reach, deciding to take initiative and dictate their next stop. He chose a mask shop, drawn by the beautifully painted wares.

There were masks of every possible variety, and they hung from the walls, row upon row of brightly painted carvings. Some included other additions, such as feathers and glass and still others what appeared to be inlay of actual precious stones.

"Hobby or profession?" he inquired of the man behind the counter.

"Both," was his reply, "Outside of the festival, my masks aren't cheap, but I discount them for the festivalgoers, or those who seem like they truly appreciate my art."

"They are gorgeous," Szayel said, leaning on his elbows as he gazed at the wall of jewel colored wares. Nnoitra finally caught up to him and slunk in, having been taken by surprise by his unexpected jaunt and separated by a sudden flux of fairegoers.

"Would you like to buy a mask, Miss?" the shopkeeper asked.

"I think I shall."

His eyes scanned the myriad masks that hung from every possible free space, though he did note the empty places where a few customers had presumably taken a fancy to one of them and bought it. Nnoitra joined him in his search, reaching out to point at one after a few minutes.

"Look. There's a phoenix mask."

Szayel glanced over to where he pointed and saw that it was true. The firebird stared back at him, a triumph of gold and scarlet and copper. Black paint rimmed the eyeholes, and black feathers speckled with gold paint trailed from where on a person's face there would be lashes. It was truly beautiful, with leaping flames twisting up the cheeks and a headdress of orange and red feathers, but even as he admired it, he shook his head.

"This one's a piece of art, not something to be worn. It is best left on a wall to be admired."

"Hnn," said Nnoitra, giving him a strange look before he resumed searching. Szayel admired a green quetzal mask with a pair of trailing red plumes that began at the bridge of the mask's beak and cascaded over the back, almost like the antennae of a moth. Underneath the eyes were layered short green feathers. His eyes found a pink starfish mask next where the carved arms of the marine creature appeared to embrace the side of one cheek. It looked to be decorated with two varieties of coral; the spiky, organic white and the shiny red of the polished kind.

"Hey, what about this one?"

He pointed to a peacock mask. If the phoenix had been sumptuous, this one gave it a run for extravagance. One half of the mask was a collage of glass; green, blue, and indigo, overlain on the wood. The other half was painted black with gold and iridescent green twists of paint along the jaw that clustered heavily around the eye in a feathery pattern. Embedded in the center of the forehead was a star sapphire, and peacock feathers adorned the top of the mask, mimicking a tail in their elegant, fanlike sweep. Again, Szayel admired the artistry shown in its make and privately marveled at the price tag surely attached, but shook his head.

"The peacock is the symbol of another; a man I'd rather not think about. Ironically, it is considered to be another immortal bird in mythology. No, I think I've already chosen my mask."

He pointed to a mask hanging towards the right of the entire display, and Nnoitra followed his finger with some surprise.

"That one please," he asked of the stall keeper. The man went and took it down from its hook, setting it before him.

"That's incredibly simple for you," Nnoitra remarked upon it. Szayel held it up, examining it studiously.

"The word you're looking for is minimalistic, or perhaps refined? Not everything I own is extravagant."

It was indeed on the plainer side, but it had an elegant beauty in its simplicity. Carved of ebony and polished to a matte gloss, it had more weight to it than some of the other masks, yet it was fitting. A black jackal mask with an Egyptian flair; sleek and regal. Gold foil edged its eyes, a brilliant kohl that trailed down each cheek in three, distinctive triangles. The eyebrows were marked as thin lines of gold paint. Two dots of mother of pearl inlay were worked in just under the inside of the eyeholes and glimmered there mysteriously, like two pearlescent tears on the verge of forming. Szayel removed his glasses and pressed the mask to his face. All that showed through were his amber eyes, which glowed brightly in contrast with the black of the wood.

"Wow," Nnoitra said. That gaze was ancient. Eerie. Szayel removed the mask, smiling mysteriously.

"Anubis," he said, "The Egyptian god who embalmed the bodies of the dead so they could pass on to the afterlife. A lonely profession, don't you think? Osiris received the souls once they'd passed on, but Anubis was the one to prepare and judge the dead. He weighed their hearts against a feather, and if they were heavy with sin, he threw them to the Devourer. No glory for the Embalmer; only corpses."

"Morbid," commented Nnoitra.

"Yes," Szayel agreed with a laugh, "But look doesn't he seem sad? What happens when the judge is no longer impartial?"

He ran a finger over the mother of pearl, then reached into his obi, taking out his violet card.

"I am aware that you discount your masks, but I cannot with good conscience pay less for this than what it is worth."

"You sure?" the man asked, scanning the card, "Because you're someone who I would gladly discount one of my masks for."

"Positive," Szayel replied, "And do the same for his."

"Huh?" Nnoitra said, startling out of his reverie.

"I can see you've been eyeing that boa mask."

He smiled ruefully as the stall keeper went and took it down, turning it over in his hands when it was given to him. The wood was ridged, carved to mimic scales on one side while the other was smooth wood with painted scales, and glossy. The cheekbones were made flattened and the eye slits narrow, so that it changed the shape of the face of the person wearing it. Painted a startling bright green, texture was added through use of variegated darker greens and browns and the scales edged very finely with yellow. The result was a striking mottled effect that only enhanced the jewel tones. The eyebrows were ridged with dark green and brown, and a yellow stripe was painted down the snout for dramatic effect. Emerald inlay under the eye slits, accented with gold paint at the corners, completed the mask.

"I don't have any special story behind liking this," he admitted as he put it on, "I just think it looks cool."

"That's all that's really needed," said the maskmaker as he returned Szayel his card, "So long as you buy it because it strikes a chord."

They left the booth, masks donned, and Szayel stowed his glasses in his obi along with his card, as he'd found it to be remarkably good for that sort of task. Which was just as well, for he hadn't brought a purse or a bag with him. Noticing, Nnoitra commented on this.

"No glasses?"

"Genetics favored my female gigai. These glasses are ornamental. I wear them out of habit."

"Why don't you manipulate those genes and make them perfect?"

"Because it amuses me to leave certain details up to chance."

"Mr. Control Freak, leaving something up to chance. Hypocrite."

"I never claimed not to be one," Szayel said.

"Hypocrite," Nnoitra repeated. Szayel smacked his arm lightly.

"Quiet. I probably just paid several hundred for that mask you're wearing. You owe me some gratitude."

"Oh? How'dya wanna be repaid?" Nnoitra asked slyly. Szayel stopped and turned around, amber eyes glimmering. He appraised the taller man with his serpentine mask, then tilted his head, eyes narrowing. Stepping in, he went up onto tiptoe as he closed the height gap between them somewhat, and his slim fingers rested on his chest, burrowing into the cloth assertively. One hand came up to lift off his mask, and Nnoitra found himself staring into those intense, half lidded eyes at close range. Then he spoke, moving those enchantingly full lips of his… hers.

"With your silence please," he murmured, then let the mask slide back into place. He eased off of Nnoitra and skipped ahead to where the parade was forming to march down the waterfront, and the taller man was left feeling mildly stunned at his unexpectedly dominant display. Equally disorienting was the ghostly feeling of breasts pressed softly against his chest in that instant… Nnoitra shook his head to clear it of the haze and whistled low to himself before following his partner over to where he stood, figure curvier in the mellow light than it had any right to be.

Nnoitra paid his debt while they watched the parade, keeping all commentary to himself, and Szayel enjoyed the companionable silence. It was nice to talk to someone after months of near silence, but standing there in the lantern light, just taking comfort in each other's presence was equally pleasant. After awhile, he felt his eyelids begin to grow heavy, and he leaned against Nnoitra's shoulder. The taller man looked down at his drowsy companion, over at the parade, and then back down again. It was bright and lively, but the hour was growing late. He shook the pink haired man- woman –and Szayel sighed, opening his eyes.

"Don't crash on me just yet, Szay," he admonished, breaking his silence, "You still haven't seen the fireworks."

"Fireworks?" Szayel asked, blinking sleep out of his eyes.

"Yeah. They start up ten minutes to midnight and finish at twelve am, when the parade ends. You have to stay awake for 'em; they're really pretty."

"Urgh," Szayel complained, eyelids fluttering, "I need cold water."

"We can do better than that," Nnoitra said, towing him away from the parade and back over to the stalls. The one he led him to contained a strange machine that spun gossamer wisps, like colored cobwebs. A woman stood behind it, a paper cone in one hand, and she twirled it around the rim of the inner chamber where the wisps formed. It gradually built up into a pink, fluffy cloud that smelled sweet, which she offered to Nnoitra. He passed it to Szayel, who examined it while he paid.

"Cotton candy," he remarked by way of explanation. Szayel pulled a clump of it off, noting it was sticky to the touch. He pushed it into his mouth and felt it melt on his tongue.

"Sugar spike on a stick. This'll wake you up long enough."

Szayel pulled off another wad and stuffed it into his mouth. There didn't appear to be any dignified way to eat this confection, and for the first time that night, Nnoitra deigned to help him eat it. Szayel smirked.

"So I take it my masculinity is no longer in question?" he inquired.

"Nah, I'm basically broke," was Nnoitra's cheeky reply, and Szayel scoffed.

"Serves you right."

Nnoitra winked and took a bite out of the cotton candy cone.

"Whatever," he mumbled through a mouthful of fluff.

They finished it all too soon, and Szayel was left to suck the last of the sugary treat off his fingertips reluctantly. His mask hung to one side of his face, out of the way, as did Nnoitra's. The black haired human watched him, looking amused.

"What?" Szayel asked, defending his childish actions, "It's messy."

"That it is," Nnoitra agreed, "But that's part of the fun."

Szayel _hmm_ed, unconvinced. Nnoitra still watched him, amused, and Szayel couldn't shake the impression that he was laughing at him internally. That was, until his expression abruptly morphed into something else. That same, serious look he'd worn earlier when they'd sat on the bench, overlooking the water. Szayel watched, transfixed as he leaned down and kissed his slightly parted lips chastely, shivering when his tongue slid out to lick his cheek. Then he'd straightened again, as if nothing had happened, and smiled at his shocked look.

"You had some cotton candy right here," he explained cheerfully, tapping the mirror of the spot he'd licked on his cheek.

"N-Nnoitra…?" Szayel stammered, touching the still damp patch, then his lips, which had grown supple under that enigmatic kiss. His body warmed, a sweet heat spreading from that place of fleeting contact to all his extremities, but Nnoitra made no further moves.

An explosion, loud as a thunderclap interrupted anything else he might've wanted to say, and they both looked up as the first firework blazed across the black canvas of the night sky, drawing cheers from the crowd. Motion stilled as thousands of eyes gazed heavenward, except for the parade, which continued its progress down the boardwalk. But it seemed distant; dreamlike compared to the stillness of the rest of the world. Another explosion sounded, yielding a second, shimmering flower, the third and fourth unfurling shortly after.

"Hush. The fireworks are starting," Nnoitra said as he draped an arm around his shoulder to pull him closer, and that was the end of it. Szayel's body still prickled, but his thoughts did not linger long on the strange sensation and his companion's peculiar actions. His mind hovered up in the sky, eyes filled with the greens and reds and lilac fires that lit up the night until midnight. And even then when the last spark had faded, his thoughts drifted in a smoky haze, still echoing with the sound of canons.

* * *

**A/N:**

So yeah. Angst and fluff. And oh lord I had to stop so many times when I was writing the beginning of this chapter because I was like, "Aaaaangst. Zomg... /wrist" Ha... Jk. I'm not emo. (Very much the contrary in fact...)

I thought I hated this chapter, because god did it take so much effort to write and I really hate it when my writing takes a lot of time. I've been writing this since the 13th of August off and on. Mu. But reading over it, it isn't as choppy and stylistically horrible as I thought it was when I finished writing it half brain dead. Typing it up really sucked, but at least I was doing it at a comfortable 63 degrees rather than 90 degrees. Uuurgh. That frathouse was... really really hot. But I digress. The rest of this note I'll keep shortish and sweet and on topic.

I should have titled this chapter Sexual Tension. Pfft.

Bacterial meningitis really does exist, I'm not fooling with you. It truly kills that fast. Go look it up if you're interested. Make sure you are vaccinated, folks. (And if any of you anti vaccine people are out there reading this... er... no comment. Actually, yes comment. You are putting people around you who can't get vaccinated for medical or age reasons at risk. Shame on you.) I am morbidly fascinated with disease, haha. I had to work something in there. Moving on.

Szayel has a female gigai? Yup. I refer to him in it as a he? It's awkward to call him a she, since he's not. Can she get preggy? Lol. I'll probably never explore that, but for the record... if she menstruates, then she can get pregnant. How easily? I don't know.

Mayuri's name means peahen in Sanskrit. It is a female name, which I find amusing. But anyways, I made his symbol the peacock based on his name, hence that ref. And yes, the peacock is an immortal bird in Hindu mythology, as well as a few others. Irony? Oh yeah, baby~ See how I worked Egyptian mythology into it too on a whim, since I used to be huge on mythology and still sort of am. Ho ho. (I'm so bored...)

Read and REVIEW if you like it. Please. D: Rawr. Shameless begging yes. Thank you to all those who read and continue to review this fic. And thanks for the fanart Xylexia! Omg, you're amazing! *Heart* I- I feel so flattered that I'm not the only one drawing scenes. xD Next chapter should be up soonish (within the week) since its already written. I'm trying to restrain myself from typing it up since I want to put some time between my random updates. x_x Till then~


	15. Afterimage

There was a certain point when things ceased to make sense anymore and the lights and noise of the festival blurred incomprehensibly. Fleeting impressions and snippets of conversation ruled his conscious mind as he floated in and out of awareness, as all the energy seemed to have abandoned his limbs. Someone supported and half carried him as they walked, this much he could discern; but the identity of his assistant remained as fuzzy as the rest of his surroundings.

"…pretty much out of it… crashed… fireworks."

"…where… will you bring… shop?"

"…gonna… take him home…"

The sounds floated over his head for the most part, only forming into clear words every so often. And then they ceased even to materialize sporadically in his ears and white noise drowned everything else out; a generic, low thrum. His vision was replaced by some warm, neutral shade he couldn't quite place, nor did he concern himself to name it. He was too tired to bother, only distantly aware of being moved. At one point, there was a weightless sensation, as if he were riding in a car. Then nothing. Softness gave way to oblivion as his body ceased in sending the limited feedback that had tied him to some perception of reality.

He could tell when he was dreaming from that misty quality that was more intuitive than actually present in his dreams. They were vivid to be sure, but he never mistook reality for the dreamworld. In some part of his mind, he knew. Even in sleep, he was in control of himself. Perhaps more so than in the waking world. Though the climb back up from REM to light sleep must have been gradual, he opened his eyes with a start and jerked instinctively, as if snapping out of a falling dream.

Here he was, fully awake. The room was dark, lit by the faint glow that crept under the door, which let to out to a hallway. And this itself did not make sense. The dimensions of the room were all wrong; it was not one of his. Then… he was on a bed. It felt rather large. Queen size at least. This too was wrong; he did not own a bed.

And he was not alone. In fact, he had been sleeping next to his companion. Almost on top of them. One arm was flung across his- he was male –chest, and the other fisted in the cloth covering his shoulder. Szayel's torso, now raised from the surprise of his sudden waking, felt as though he'd slept with it pressed into his side. The man lay on his back, facing up, and he saw that he too was awake.

"Nnoitra?" Szayel asked of his bed companion, the name springing instinctively to his lips as he matched it to the face. He appeared to be very ill rested; there were shadows under his eyes, and his skin seemed paler than usual. The man cracked him a wan smile; a ghost of his usual lively grin.

"You're finally awake," he commented, and Szayel could hear the weariness in his voice.

"What time is it?" he asked, still disoriented. There was something not right about his voice, about him. His body felt different; softer. Heavier, and not just with the heaviness of sleep.

"Around four am I think. You crashed after the fireworks, so I did the only thing I could think of at the time and brought you over to my place to sleep."

"Oh."

He rubbed his forehead, then looked down at himself, still dressed in his kimono from the festival. And still, he realized, in his female gigai.

"Oh!"

The shadows under Nnoitra's eyes suddenly made sense. He looked so ill rested because he hadn't slept. Not with Szayel lying so blithely in his bed, practically attached to him. Knowing Nnoitra's leanings and his personal history of physical advances, it was a wonder he was restraining himself at all.

"My apologies," he murmured, wincing.

"Nah, it's fine. But I didn't expect you to glom onto me. I originally put you on the other side of the bed."

He had no reply to this, for he couldn't account for the actions of his body when he didn't fully understand them himself. At his apologetic look, Nnoitra exhaled and tried to look comforting, but came across as strained instead.

"Don't worry about it Szayel. It was my decision; I can deal with the consequences. But now that you're awake, you should probably go home."

Szayel blinked, uncertain what to think of this Nnoitra. Like the Nnoitra who'd kissed him so seriously at the festival, free of any subtext or demand. Just a kiss, and a relatively innocent one at that. He was used to that licentious smile, the endless suggestions and playfulness and cajoling to just run with things and think later. The sly Nnoitra, driven by a simple agenda to have fun and get in his pants and live for the moment, who was never afraid to let him know what he wanted and when he wanted it.

But this Nnoitra? He was tired and tense and probably out of his mind with self restraint, yet he did not try to make a move. No, he even encouraged him to leave. And this played counter to everything Szayel had come to assume about him. The Nnoitra he'd built up would have started something when he'd woken up. Perhaps a kiss, perhaps a caress or a murmured observation on the potentially erotic situation they found themselves in. But just sending him off? How did it benefit him?

Nnoitra watched him through eyes half lidded from lack of sleep, then groaned, closing them.

"Really Szayel, you need to leave. It's hard to just talk to you like this when you're hovering so close. I can't promise not to do anything if you stick around much longer," he murmured through slightly clenched teeth, brow furrowing in concentration. Szayel watched him resist his own impulses, marveling at this other side to him and the curious sensation that had begun to afflict his own body.

"Why?" he asked, very simply. Nnoitra opened his eyes, giving him a strained look.

"What?" asked the black haired man.

"Why?" Szayel repeated, tilting his head inquisitively like a bird, "Are you letting me leave?"

The look of strain was replaced by one of incredulity.

"That's not the best question to be askin' right now. Ask me later; you need to go."

"But you want to, right?" he prompted, a strange urge creeping over him. He needed to know, felt compelled to stay until he had an answer. And his own body was reluctant to leave. Perhaps it was driven by hormones, for it craved his warmth, the warmth of another body. Nnoitra let his breath hiss out slowly through his teeth.

"That's not the point. The point is… ah hell… Szayel…"

His expression implored him now that his tongue was tied uselessly. _Leave_, it pleaded, _before…_

Before what? Before he gave in and did what he wanted? But he'd always done that before, so why were things different now? It made no sense, absolutely no sense, and Szayel felt himself drawn by that lack of logic. He considered the conflicted man beneath him for another minute before coming to a decision. Sighing, he sat back on his heels, putting some distance between them. Nnoitra exhaled as well, relieved, but that relief did not last long.

"You're always telling me to loosen up, Nnoitra. To take a risk. So can I ask… what will happen if I take a risk now?" he asked softly.

"Szayel, what-?" he stammered, eyes widening as the smaller man- woman –pulled the pins from her hair and let it tumble down her shoulders. Slender fingers loosened the obi that kept her kimono closed, and she shrugged the top of it off, letting the cloth slide down her arms and exposing her chest and narrow waist. A bra cupped her breasts, the only barrier obscuring them from his vision. Even while he watched, she reached under the rims to pull it up over her head.

But this wasn't a her, this was a he. This was Szayel. Nnoitra's hand flashed out to grab his wrist before he could remove the clothing article. He gave him a morose look, those pretty lips thinning to a pout.

"What the hell are you thinking!" he demanded, trying to ignore the way his golden eyes reproached him. The soft curve of his exposed stomach, pale and inviting…

"I want to, Nnoitra. I already told you that," he said, lifting the hand that circled his wrist up to his cheek and rubbed it against the skin. Nnoitra shuddered, body fighting his will.

"Yeah but… your gigai," he protested weakly. Something akin to pain flashed across Szayel's face, but then he shook his head slightly and leaned in, lips brushing Nnoitra's in a butterfly kiss.

"If it's a onetime thing, what does it matter if I'm male or female?" he remarked wistfully, breath feathering across his neck, "Besides… you like women better."

Nnoitra opened his mouth, but whatever he might've said was lost in a groan of arousal as Szayel straddled his hips and teased his Adam's apple with his tongue. Growling, he caved and reached up to pull Szayel against him. He came willingly, eagerly even, and Nnoitra unhooked the bra with one hand, the other already sliding underneath the fabric to cup one of those supple, silky breasts. The nipple stiffened as he brushed a thumb over the rosy nub, sensitive to his touch, and Szayel exhaled softly, moving into his hand. Bra cast away, the other was treated with equal consideration, and his pink haired partner hummed in pleasure at the contact. But Szayel wanted more, he could tell, and Nnoitra was only too happy to oblige him.

His grip tightened, squeezing, and Szayel squirmed a little. The threshold between pain and pleasure was a fine one, and this seemed to be especially true of his companion; the man on top of him. Calling him a man while he wore this body felt wrong, but thinking of him in terms of female felt equally incorrect. Szayel wasn't either and was both simultaneously, and in his mind, he alternated articles. He… she… if only there were a more accurate word that encompassed both spheres. Banishing these distracting thoughts, his tongue slid out to lave his left nipple, then drew it into his mouth.

Szayel gasped as electric shocks lit up his body, followed by a wrenching tug stemming from his lower belly. As a male, the sensation had been highly stimulating, but this? This awoke in him a very primal need. His breath escaped in short, shallow pants as Nnoitra sucked and alternately twisted the other, making it twinge and burn.

"Ahh…" he moaned as Nnoitra abandoned his tingling breasts to sweep a possessive hand over the smooth plane of his belly. It warmed under his palm, yearning to be stroked again, but it would have to wait. Nnoitra sat up, fingers running down his ribs, just skimming his back as they traveled down the dip of his waist to the curve of his hips, still buried in the cloth of his kimono. Nnoitra's hands plucked at it, picking it apart while Szayel did the same for his, opening the front to slide smooth, slim fingers over his toned chest. Nnoitra had him undressed first and shucked the kimono and its obi off the bed, hands sliding down uninhibited to cup his ass.

Szayel rolled his hips forward, against his stomach, rubbing sinfully. For a virgin, he seemed to have an innate sense of seduction. That blend between dominance and submission he found appealing. Nnoitra inserted a finger under the elastic of his panties, tugging the corner down to bare his pelvis fully. Pink curls peeked over the rim of the cloth, and aroused at the sight, he tugged them down a little further. A gratifying groan escaped Szayel's mouth as he pulled his hips to his face and ran his tongue over that bared pelvis, fingers tangling in the darker pink of his pubic hairs.

It was maddening, this foreplay. Incredibly stimulating in its suspense, but also frustrating. His body burned, ached, longing for what Nnoitra promised with his playful caresses but never came close to delivering. His mouth on his belly, nipping and sucking; a pull that made him want to cry out with exasperation. Instead, his passion worked its way out in the way he twined his arms around Nnoitra's neck and arched his body sinuously, suggesting, prompting. Trying to drive him as crazy as he himself felt, so he would deliver on his elusive promises. His body felt hot; he was burning up with desire, but it seemed he was suffering that sweet purgatory all on his own. Until Nnoitra finally gave him reprieve from that lust… and introduced another torment.

Without warning, the fingers tangled in his pubic hair worked free of the curls and slid inside him. Szayel's eyes flew open and he stiffened, mouth parting in silent shock as Nnoitra explored his inner walls. His thighs trembled violently as he felt a slick heat concentrate around his fingers, coating them wetly, and he squirmed at the alien sensation of having something inside him, stroking.

"Hahn…" he breathed as Nnoitra's long fingers probed deeper, brushing high inside his canal, and resisted the impulse to twist away from those searching digits. They moved slowly, unhurriedly, and they drove him mad. But just as he felt he would utter a frustrated cry, his fingers withdrew, pausing only at the opening to slide over a flap of skin teasingly.

"You really are a virgin," Nnoitra husked, not quite master to his voice, then removed them entirely. He leaned forward, licking his chest as Szayel arched his spine in pleasure, but he wasn't done with those fingers. They worked the area between his labia, teasing upward along the slick crevasse. Szayel could feel his pulse throbbing between his legs, stronger than the heartbeat in his chest. And then it was gone. His thighs turned to liquid as Nnoitra found and rubbed a tiny nub, experimentally at first, then more insistently. His body spasmed, rolling against Nnoitra as a wave of euphoria washed over him, sending jolts through his body. Distantly, he heard himself moaning as if in great agony, but he was not in pain. Far from it. No, the feeling was indescribable. Vivid. So intense, the details fell into a haze. And god, how amazing he felt… like he was flying.

He'd collapsed against Nnoitra, he could tell through the fog. His body was rippling with the electricity of his orgasm, which still wrenched cries from his lips. Nnoitra had pushed him down onto his back, spreading his legs and folding his knees back. He licked up the inside of his thigh, biting the skin there; leaving a welt. Then that tongue was in him; a different sensation. More heat, more slickness, more muffled gasping as he again found his clitoris and worked it. His eyes were blinded with desire, unseeing as he bucked his hips up in the throws of unfulfilled passion.

"Nnoitra!" he cried, at breaking point, his nerves and sanity pushed to their limit. And it was only then Nnoitra allowed his composure to slip. With a throaty growl, he captured his lips, the organ of his torment curling against the hollow of his cheek, and Szayel groaned inside him, tasting himself on his tongue. One hand tangled in his long tresses, fisting into a possessive knot while the other fondled his breasts. And it was then only then that he raised his hips, pressing the hardened head of his cock against his opening, and gave the first thrust.

Even at the beginning he showed restraint, not pushing all the way in. His fingers had prepared the channel earlier, but there was only so much pain he could spare him. Slick as he was, lubrication wasn't necessary, and neither would have had the patience to pause and apply it. Nnoitra gave him time to adjust though, to meet his increasing pace, and by the time he'd given in to his lust fully, the thrusts were deep, fast, and hard. Szayel's thighs trembled as he rocked his hips to the frantic pace, and he felt pain as he was battered and slammed into the bed, but he wouldn't have had it any other way. His pleasure far superceded that, a symphony of noises he never would have thought himself capable of making issuing from his mouth. Growls, moans, mewls; animal sounds of want and passion.

"Ahn~ Nnoitraah~" he whimpered even while he met Nnoitra's thrusts and curled up into him demandingly, fingers digging into his skin. There was a moment where their positions reversed and he rode him, curving his back in decadent ecstasy while Nnoitra continued to rock beneath him, _inside_ him, and then he was on his back again, Nnoitra's mouth sucking and nipping insistently, and that glorious tongue painting trails of fire over his skin.

He didn't want to stop, but he could feel himself tiring. His gigai still wasn't used to maintaining strenuous activity for long. At one point he felt a sharp tear and a stinging pain; his hymen breaking, finally stretched beyond it's point of elasticity. When he whined in complaint, Nnoitra distracted him with kisses planted along his throat and jaw, and one sensuous nip to his earlobe, his hot breath fanning over his ear and raising an agreeable shiver. Szayel returned the favor, fingers tangling in his black hair while he pulled him down to bite his neck lightly, then run his tongue over the faint impression his teeth left.

Nnoitra's body grew taut, then Szayel felt him shove farther in than he'd ever gone, urgent, and with a shudder, released. A hot flood spurted up inside him, and Szayel squirmed at the strange sensation, twisting underneath him. Nnoitra's body slackened, but he did not collapse after coming as a more selfish partner might have. Instead, he gave a few last thrusts with his softening member before it limpened completely, then pulled out with a groan and finally let himself relax. His cheek pillowed in his chest as he sighed, content, and let his body grow heavy and still. Szayel relaxed as well, letting his fingers comb through his hair and trail down his spine, loving the smooth warmth of his skin. The silence felt peaceful, and he was still flushed with pleasure, but it was a contented glow, not a hungry blaze.

He felt Nnoitra smile against his skin, equally content, and his breath tickle as he spoke drowsily.

"So? Didn't I tell ya if your first time was with me you wouldn't regret it?"

He murmured assent, stroking his head, but those words broke the sleepy euphoria he felt. While his black haired lover snuggled against him, he stared off into the darkness of an unfamiliar room and suddenly felt incredibly lonesome. Because he did regret.

Not the sex itself, or who he'd had it with. No, if he'd had to go back and make the decision again, he wouldn't have changed either. But the fact he'd had it at all; that he'd made the choice to cut ties with the predictable and indulge chance… He closed his eyes, feeling despair overtake him. His first time, and even that was tainted by falsity. This body was not his own. It was a pretty lie he'd put on for Nnoitra, because Nnoitra liked it better. He could see it in his eyes at the festival; the longing. And this pale, lovely lie hurt only himself.

_If it's a onetime thing, what does it matter if I'm male or female?_

His own fatalistic words came back to him, more plaintive than ever. He'd gone into this knowing he would be hurt. Already expecting the inevitable parting. It would be a clean ending; he wouldn't drag it out needlessly, and he could derive a little pleasure from the experience. And it made Nnoitra happier too, so it really was the best decision.

… But god did it hurt; the letting go. He should sleep, pretend morning would never come and he wouldn't have to release the man lying in his arms. Just savor the here and now, because the future was so bleak and the past was already gone. Yes, he should sleep… but he couldn't bring himself to. Instead, his body began to tremble as it convulsed with dry tears, and he stubbornly closed his mouth and kept silent so as not to disturb Nnoitra. But despite his best efforts, his eyes still blurred and Nnoitra, perhaps roused by his shaking, woke. He raised his head, brown eyes staring into gold, then reached up to wipe away a tear.

"Cryin' after sex?" he inquired, confused, "I don't think I've ever run into that problem before."

"I know…" Szayel sighed, squeezing back the traitorous saline trickle, "Ignore me. Just go back to sleep."

"What's wrong?" Nnoitra prompted, "Was I not good?"

"No," Szayel said with a watery smile, "No, you were great."

"Then what's the problem?"

He exhaled, trying to calm down, and his breath shivered out unsteadily.

"Because," he replied, "I let myself fall for you knowing it would not end well, and now I have to watch you leave."

Nnoitra stilled, freezing a little. He remained this way, a pregnant silence weighing between them for several minutes before he finally shifted again, breaking the awkwardness. When he spoke, his voice was flat with disapproval.

"For a smart man you sure are an idiot," he remarked, "Knowing the relationship was unhealthy from the start, why did you pursue it?"

"Are you going to ask me to rationalize infatuation, Nnoitra?"

He winced, perhaps recalling an old romance of his, and reluctantly shook his head.

"Nah. We're all pretty much fucked when it comes to love, which is why I stay out of the whole business. But you… have a history of making bad choices. You need help."

"Going to play psychologist with me now?" Szayel sighed, melancholic, 'I am aware that my relationships and attachments are not reciprocated equally. Fortunately, I rarely form them."

"God, Szayel…" Nnoitra shook his head, exasperate, "That's not good either. If anything, you _should_ form more attachments so you have support to fall back on when life kicks ya in the balls. Because it inevitably does."

"And how many people do you think I can do that with? How many people do you think I can be myself around? To everyone but you, I am lying. To the world, I am lying, and I do not have a choice. Would you have me make friendships with humans Nnoitra? Play dress up and pretend all my life to be something I am not? Would you call that a healthy relationship? No. Even from the start, all my attachments are doomed to be onesided. And back in Las Noches, we were segregated by rank. There too, among my own kind, equality was impossible. To form a relationship was to expose yourself to weakness and invite an opportunist to plant a dagger in your back."

His words were spat back with a bitter cynicism, and while it gave him satisfaction to see Nnoitra flinch at his vitriolic retort, it hurt him too. He didn't really want to injure him this way, but it was in his nature to be harmful.

"You're right. That isn't an option," Nnoitra admitted, "So what are you going to do?"

Szayel shrugged.

"Nothing. What can I do?"

His dispassionate reply was met with a frown.

"You're not a passive person, Szayel. What happened to that fire? That arrogance? You practically own the world, so why are you taking its shit?"

Szayel's eyes narrowed as he looked into Nnoitra's, and it was his turn to criticize the taller man.

"Because the only thing I want, I cannot take. Oh, I could spirit you away Nnoitra. Keep you locked up the rest of your mortal lifespan and even extend it some, but that would not bring me satisfaction because you would hate me for it. And I would rather you leave me than hate me. Love is regrettably something you cannot bottle and preserve; it sours. Especially if it isn't fully present from the start."

His lover considered these words for a long moment, then leaned in and kissed him sweetly.

"Then take initiative. Make me fall for you. Ya still have time."

"What time?" Szayel asked morosely. Nnoitra grinned, impish.

"You're still a virgin."

Szayel's eyes widened in surprise.

"What?" he said as he felt the telltale heat rise to his cheeks.

"Your ass is still mine," he teased, "Next time, I'm popping your real cherry."

He smirked as his cheeks brightened and his stomach fluttered, then planted another kiss between his gigai's breasts.

"The next time, it'll hurt a lot more, so think twice before acting impulsively. I'm not gonna warn you again, since I'll be working counter to your goals," Nnoitra murmured against his skin, lips tickling.

He settled back against his chest, closing his eyes, and Szayel felt a spark of hope flare. But doubt tempered this ember, and he handled it breathlessly, hardly daring to acknowledge it in case it died.

"How am I supposed to do that?" he asked softly.

"Just be yourself. Now go to sleep already," Nnoitra grumbled in reply, sleepy. Szayel hesitated, watching his dark eyed lover for a minute longer, but finally closed his eyes as well. Before he knew it, he'd fallen asleep, hands still twined in Nnoitra's hair.

* * *

**A/N:**

Is this a bad time to mention I've never ever formed a romantic attachment to anyone? :3 Lulz. Writing romance without having felt it myself. I'm such a hypocrite, huhu.

Well anyways, your hormonally deficient (or something... I've got no clue) author is here to say a few things about this chapter, as usual, but she'll keep things shortish since the chapter isn't very long. Upon finishing the last chapter, I realized I'd set myself up for writing a lemon. So this chapter was completely unplanned and unexpected. Ah, writing. I do not control it; it writes itself. I actually like this chapter because its got a certain flow to it that I adore. Perhaps because its shorter and focused entirely on the one topic without worrying about the passage of time which makes things a little choppy in my mind. However, since its a lemon, I feel uncomfortable with it of course. But that's all psychological. I've only got issues with lemons if they are romantically involved. Dx

First lemon in this fic and its a heterosexual lemon. Feel the irony. Feel it.

I mentioned the topic of pregnancy would probably not be broached, and I still mean that. When Szayel is out of his gigais, they are put into stasis. So a fetus would only have a chance to develop if he stayed in it for a long period of time. And I'm going to stop now, because the particulars of that line of possibility are tempting but do not fit with the current plot I have in mind. More important is the emotional development that occurred, don't you think? Szayel finally confessed his insecurities.

I'd keep an eye on Nnoitra by the way.

Well, hasta la proxima vez. Read and review if you like. I'm not going to nag you this time. Next chapter will be up... er... I dunno when. I've got to catch up on some other fics. Probably no later than the end of September.


	16. Family

The second time he woke that day, he was roused by the pale morning sunlight that filtered through a crack in the window blinds. It fell across his eyelids, warming his cheeks and making it impossible to sleep. Szayel stirred, opening his eyes, and gazed up at the ceiling, then closed them again as he confirmed he was alone in the strange room. A feeling of melancholy settled over him as he lay there. Nnoitra had left; to work probably, but he hadn't said a thing to him about it. Just gone, leaving him naked in his bed in an unfamiliar house. Szayel shivered a little, feeling much colder without the heat of another body to warm him, and pulled the covers up, wrapping them around his shoulders.

He couldn't stay there feeling vulnerable and just a little betrayed- an emotion he knew was entirely ridiculous –for he had his own business to attend to. And Szayel refused to be the one waiting, like a dog pining for affection. No, he'd confront Nnoitra later, perhaps after he'd restored his male gigai. Decision made, he slid his legs over the side of the bed, scooting towards the edge to retrieve his clothes, but as soon as he'd set one foot down on the floor, he heard the door open. His head turned quickly as he rapidly sought to identify the intruder, and was greeted by the sight of the man whose absence had so troubled him.

He stood in the doorway, holding a tray of food. His hair looked damp, as if he'd showered just recently, and one eyebrow quirked up as he watched him, frozen in the process of slipping out of bed. Neither made a move for a long minute, then Nnoitra finally broke the tension by closing the door with his foot and walking over to him.

"You goin' somewhere?" he asked, sitting down next to the pink haired man.

"I assumed you'd left for work, so I was preparing to leave as well," Szayel explained, bending down to fetch his cast away kimono. Nnoitra was fully dressed, and he felt a little self-conscious over still being so exposed.

"Your unwavering faith in me is inspiring," Nnoitra remarked dryly, and Szayel shrugged.

"Going to tell me you've never left a lover lying alone?"

"Not in my own room. I kind of like my belongings intact."

"How noble of you."

Nnoitra grinned.

"C'mon Szay. Don't be so cynical this early in the morning. I called Hiroko to tell her I'd be in late today. She didn't seem too surprised."

"I can imagine."

The human rolled his eyes, transferring the tray he held to Szayel's lap.

"Stop complaining; I made breakfast."

Szayel eyed the mound of scrambled eggs and bacon, the stack of toast, the segments of orange and apple slices. Then he looked to the two bowls of miso soup, the pitcher of cream and its accompanying pot of coffee, a small container of sugar cubes, and a pair of mugs. His stomach twisted hungrily, raking painful claws down his insides as he inhaled the aroma of the food before him.

"Don't worry. I'm not gonna make ya eat this all yourself," Nnoitra remarked cheerfully, pouring himself a cup of coffee. The scientist offered him a wan smile.

"Tell me again who is courting who?"

Nnoitra shoveled some eggs onto one of the slices of toast and stuffed half of it into his mouth.

"Don' look'me," he mumbled through a mouthful of food before swallowing and continuing, "I've got an agenda as ya well know, but I figured I'd just make somethin' for you if I was already planning on feeding myself."

"Do you usually make breakfast?"

"When I have time. Otherwise I just grab something at the shop."

Szayel placed the tray on the bed and scooted back a little, sitting cross legged. He draped the kimono over himself loosely to preserve what remained of his nigh nonexistent modesty, then reached for the second mug, pouring himself some of the bitter black drink. He cut it with the cream, watching it lighten to a lovely toffee as he stirred it with a spoon. A couple of sugar cubes went into it, followed by a third upon his first grimaced taste.

"I don't see how you humans like this," he commented, setting it aside in favor of the miso.

"I work at a café."

"So?"

"It's a taste that grows on you."

Szayel snorted, taking a sip of his soup.

"A psychoactive drug is what it is. Just a legal, socially accepted psychoactive drug. It's altering the physiology of your mind, you know?"

Nnoitra shrugged.

"Guess that makes me a drug dealer then. A legal, socially accepted drug dealer."

"And you weren't one already?"

The man grinned.

"I'm just the coordinator, remember?"

"The coordinator who is going to get killed one of these days if he doesn't watch himself," Szayel remarked dryly. Nnoitra frowned a little.

"What, decided to stop stalking me after all?" he asked in a teasing tone, and Szayel flapped a hand at him.

"No. I'm just saying there's a day I won't be around, so you'd better start learning to take precautions."

Nnoitra looked thoughtful for a while, idly eating the other half of his eggs on toast while Szayel sipped quietly at his miso.

"That's an odd thought," he finally commented offhandedly, and Szayel shot him a questioning look, which he brushed off with another smile.

"It's eight o clock. Not the time to be brooding over future assassination attempts. So, what are you planning on doing today?"

"I was going to check the process of my gigai and rest perhaps. I'm still tired."

"Do that. And drop by the shop when it's done. I know Hiroko wants to see more of ya, even if she won't admit it."

"Oh? Whatever for?"

"I think she enjoys bantering with you to be honest. She likes having company while she bakes."

"And I suppose you're just bad company."

Nnoitra looked rueful as he took a gulp of coffee.

"Well 'impertinent' as I am, I'm still a subordinate of hers. Not on equal footing. You're probably one of the closest things to a friend she has."

That made him stop, really stop. He turned to look at Nnoitra, setting his half empty bowl of soup back onto the tray so the slight tremble in his hands wouldn't cause any to spill. He folded these together to steady them, and their shaking subsided somewhat, but the uncertainty in his tone still betrayed him.

"What?" he asked of the taller man.

"Well, she's got a pretty equal relationship with you. You're neither a customer nor a member of her organization, so there are no barriers of formality to observe with you. Her profession pretty effectively isolates her from making those kinds of connections."

"I… see…" he murmured. Here was a new parallel between them; both incapable of forming equal bonds. He frowned slightly, staring down at his hands, "In that case, she is the same to me."

"A friend?"

Szayel's frown tilted up into a small smile.

"The closest thing to a friend I can have."

"So what does that make me?"

"My unhealthy romantic attachment."

"Flattering, Szayel. Very flattering."

"I speak only the truth," the scientist teased, leaning over to kiss him before picking up an orange segment and popping it into his mouth, however, he asked his next question a little more seriously, "What about her husband? I've never seen him."

Nnoitra actually winced at the question, taking a steadying gulp of coffee before he replied.

"From what I understand, he was killed. Been gone now for close ta ten years. She took over the mob when he died. He comes up in conversation every so often, but it's still kind of a sensitive topic."

So, she really was alone then. The solitary matriarch of her criminal family. That was how she'd earned her will of iron; that unyielding, steely confidence with which she handled everything. It must have been difficult to keep an organization together after such a devastating blow, especially while managing her own immeasurable grief at the loss of her companion, but she had succeeded. He wondered what it had cost her.

"What was his name?" he asked, not really knowing why he inquired, and Nnoitra's expression turned strange. A little hesitant even.

"Takeda Reizo," he finally answered, and Szayel understood his discomfort.

"Takeda? The same last name?"

After a moment, he nodded, even if it was an unnecessary gesture.

"It's one reason she hired me out of the other applicants. Even if it's a common last name, I guess there was that lingering nostalgia."

"Seems I'm not the only one channeling a past through you."

Nnoitra made a vaguely affirmative sound.

"Story of my life apparently."

Szayel looked over at him, gauging his mood. Then recalled the ghostly words he'd heard on the other side of the door to his suite some two months back. Words he still wasn't sure if his mind had conjured or not. After mulling these over, he decided to voice his thoughts.

"Does it bother you that I call you Nnoitra?" he asked quietly. Nnoitra glanced over quickly, clearly caught off guard by his question. He didn't reply immediately, considering it silently. Feeling a little awkward, Szayel pressed on.

"You've been Nobu all your life. If you want, I can call you that."

"… would you really do that?" the human finally asked.

"I wouldn't have offered if I didn't mean it," the scientist replied. Nnoitra appeared to consider these words as well.

"Who do you think of me as though? When ya think of me, what's the name that comes to mind?"

"I… I think of you as Nnoitra."

"Not Nobu."

"In time I probably could."

Nnoitra paused again, silent, then finally nodded.

"Keep callin' me Nnoitra then. To be honest, I've already gotten used to it."

Szayel slumped slightly, relief melting some of the tension in his body. Though he wasn't entirely sure how Nnoitra felt, since he'd avoided answering that first question, he didn't feel so strongly about it that he'd take him up on his offer. But he still wondered from his reaction back on the morning they'd showered together how deeply it bothered the man that their relationship existed primarily because of a past one. And why it bothered him at all. After all, this was just a temporary thing. Not permanent. Szayel took his first listless bite of egg and chewed it, lost in thought.

They weren't the same. In some ways yes, but the vast majority of their personality was different. And while it was true he'd indulged in encouraging a few carryovers, he wasn't dwelling on the past. No, he was trying to leave it behind. It just appeared to be something that would not be so easily forgotten, trailing ghostly fingers through his life. It seemed that this background was unsatisfactory to Nnoitra however, whose pride perhaps was injured because he'd won him through no perceivable merit of his own. But that was not true. No, far from the truth.

"I thought the eggs tasted pretty good myself," Nnoitra commented, distracting him from his brooding train of thought. Szayel looked down at the pile, the taste finally registering with him.

"No, they are good. Very good."

"Hey. Szayel. Just stop thinking once in a while. The amount of thinking you do, it's not good for ya."

Stop thinking. What a strange concept. He was always thinking, always observing and making projections; his mind was a maelstrom of activity. Even when he slept, he thought in his dreams. And to stop? Was such a thing even possible?

"You're still doing it. Thinking."

He looked over at Nnoitra, who gave him a crooked, exasperated smile, one eyebrow quirked.

"It's not something I can help," Szayel replied with a shrug. Nnoitra took up the tray, setting it aside, then pulled him to himself, lips finding his eyelids and kissing each of them.

"Then ask me for help," he murmured, hot breath tickling his face. He shivered slightly, then nodded. Nnoitra seemed to be good at distracting him from his thoughts.

"Ok, and one more suggestion."

Szayel looked up, opening his eyes again.

"Yes?"

Nnoitra's smile became sly.

"If the urge ever hits ya, and no matter what ya do you can't ignore it, then come to me in this body. I can help with that too."

Szayel's face reddened, and he pushed away, mouth opening helplessly.

"Nnoitra!" he finally shouted, accusing, and the human sent him a look of amusement.

"You're scary smart Szayel, but there are some things you only learn through experience. Give me a call when yer feelin' needy."

Szayel quieted, taking up a piece of toast and piling a small mound of bacon and eggs onto it, which he hid behind, using eating as an excuse to avoid replying. Nnoitra watched him stuff his mouth and, upon discerning that he'd terminated the conversation, smirked and reached over to retrieve his coffee.

-.-.-.-.-.-

One moment he was checking on his gigai, the next… the next he was struck with a sudden, strange feeling of anxiety. It seemed to come out of nowhere, this moodiness, and before he was really aware of what he was doing, he found himself pacing his lab. This forced him to stop and seriously consider what had him so worked up. What this feeling of angst stemmed from. Why he felt so unsettled…

It was a flash of desire; a want that had afflicted him however briefly as he gazed upon the corporeal version of himself that floated in a tank of pseudo-amniotic fluid. And this realization gave him pause. Served only to worsen his mood as he considered the significance of this new type of pining. Because this new desire was not one he could satisfy, not without sacrificing the chance that he had.

And it made him angry. Irritated him. Pissed him off. That he, Szayel Aporro Granz, should have to deny himself that which he wanted. But more than anything else, more than all the resentment at trailing after some human for a one sided relationship, he felt worried.

Nnoitra had predicted in his intolerably knowing way that Szayel would feel inclinations he couldn't help. Wants he couldn't deny. That after a while, he wouldn't be able to help himself. He'd extended his teasing offer to satisfy these urges if Szayel approached him in his female gigai and asked. And when Szayel had protested, he'd seemed so certain that Szayel wouldn't be able to resist. The problem was, he was right. Szayel did want that experience again, but he refused to resort to his female form. He wouldn't lower himself again that way, because frankly… the whole affair had felt dirty. No, if they ever had sex again, it would be as himself.

But lord, he felt cornered. Claustrophobic. It wasn't fair, their relationship. Of the two, he was the stronger. He had the power and the wealth. He was the immortal. Nnoitra was just a poor, human Mafioso. A virtual nobody in the expanse of the world. So why was it he who pursued him? Why was Szayel forced to subvert himself, to soften his own nature, to become…

Something else. He was becoming something else. To spare Nnoitra his own brutal identity as an Arrancar; a soul who fed on the souls of others. But what was he now? Time and time again he reminded Nnoitra he wasn't human, took a sort of perverse satisfaction in it actually. He tried to instill in him a healthy fear, a respect for how vicious he could be. That the way he thought about the world did not coincide with the way ordinary humans thought. A psychologist would diagnose him as insane, or at least with a colorful assortment of manias and delusions. But for all that he referred to himself as inhuman, for all that he called himself a monster, he was acting especially tame. The primary obsession that haunted him was a socially acceptable illness that went by the name of love.

Szayel was hardly the terrible demon Soul Society had once strove to eradicate. He was by comparison a pale shade; a meek little spirit who flew under the radar. Ambitionless and obsolete. The last member of a race whose time had long ago passed. He was little more than a relic.

How sad. How incredibly pathetic. He who had once challenged the whole institution of life and death with his takeover was now reduced to this state. Szayel wanted to shout, wanted to rebel against this deterioration of self. Do something callous to fuck with humanity as he might once have without a second thought. But he had chains now. Emotional restraints holding him back from releasing Armageddon upon a world he'd long grown tired of. It was his right. The silly little fools had brought it upon themselves by thinking there was any one magic bullet to resolve society's ills.

And in the end… in the end he did nothing. The dark mood evaporated after a few hours, leaving him to feel disoriented and lost. Still wondering whether he should act upon this odd flux of emotion and thought or to let it lie undisturbed. His Fracción watched him apprehensively as he stilled his restless pacing and settled himself on his sofa, gazing off into space with a distant expression, but left him to his introspection. It was a never wise to disturb Szayel when his mind was wandering.

-.-.-.-.-.-

"What happened to you?"

These four words out of Nnoitra's mouth startled him out of his contemplation. Szayel blinked, trying to figure out what he meant by it. Seeing his look of confusion, Nnoitra frowned impatiently.

"Ya look like ya just got the news someone died. In shock. Out of it."

"Oh. I've… been preoccupied," he replied absently.

"With what? The end of the world?"

"Sort of."

At a searching look from the human, he shook his head, clearing it and looking at Nnoitra more lucidly.

"I supposed the closest approximation would be a midlife crisis, though I've had two of these so far. I guess it is inevitable considering how long I have lived and will continue to live."

"How old are you?" Nnoitra asked, and Szayel shot him a mildly disapproving look.

"That's a very rude question to ask of an immortal you know," he informed him sternly, and Nnoitra grinned.

"Kay. I'll add immortals to the groups of people who ya never ask about age."

"Who else is on it?"

"Women. Especially middle aged women."

"Ah… of course," Szayel murmured. Vanity was a sensitive thing.

"Does it really bother you to say how old you are?" Nnoitra inquired after a moment, and Szayel sighed, leaning forward.

"Not particularly. It only makes me self conscious sometimes to be dating a virtual child like you."

"Child, huh?"

Nnoitra leaned forward as well, looking miffed and a little playful. He skimmed a thumb over Szayel's cheek, tracing down gradually to brush over his lips.

"How can a child make ya feel so hot?"

Szayel smirked against the thumb on his mouth, parting his lips to lick the pad of the digit just as teasingly.

"I only meant that you are one relative to my age, Nnoitra. I am close to two hundred years old now."

"Shit…"

The thumb was promptly withdrawn and followed up with a look of shock, which Szayel took private delight in as he crossed his own hands under his chin.

"How do you feel about robbing the grave, Nnoi?" he asked playfully.

"How do you feel about robbing the cradle?" was Nnoitra's retort, and Szayel beamed.

"Fantastic, and you?"

"The grave in question is fucking hot, so no major moral issues there," Nnoitra conceded after a moment, grin returning in full. Szayel laughed at his reply, some of the angst that still burdened him dissipating. God, he'd missed this man. Missed the pointless banter they engaged in and all their verbal back and forth. Even if it had only been two days since he'd last seen him, it had been a whole month prior to that.

Hiroko chose that moment to walk in on them, still cleaning the flour from her hands as she entered the main café. She looked over the both of them for a moment, faces still bright with mirth, and smirked.

"Someone got laid," she observed while Szayel colored slightly and Nnoitra winked back at her, "I'd thought Takeda had seemed inordinately pleased with himself lately."

"You would too if ya knew how stubborn he is," Nnoitra remarked in his defense. Szayel made an irritated sound, unamused that they were so casually referencing his sex life. It earned him a pair of smirks.

"Nnoitra, please. Desist," he muttered testily.

"Aw, c'mon Szay. You loved it," Nnoitra said.

"I hardly think you should be discussing this in public," Szayel replied, annoyed.

"Lighten up," Nnoitra murmured, reaching over to pull him out of his seat. In a moment, Szayel was on his lap, arms wrapped firmly around his torso and pinned to his chest as Nnoitra buried his face in his hair. His mouth tickled his scalp as his warm breath feathered over the skin, and he made a contented sound. "Mmm… see? It's nice."

Szayel couldn't deny that as Nnoitra held him, their bodies pressed together nicely and Nnoitra's heat warming him from the chill of the outdoors. In fact, if Hiroko hadn't been watching them with an amused look on her face, he might have been tempted to lean his head back against Nnoitra's shoulder. Nnoitra meanwhile seemed to lack the same reservations. His lips crept steadily down his head to the nape of his neck, teeth occasionally catching a lock of hair and tugging teasingly. His hands had just begun to drift downwards when the sound of the door chiming alerted them to the arrival of a customer.

"Café's closed for the evening," Hiroko informed the woman who'd just arrived, but she seemed not to care. Her attention was all for Nnoitra.

"Nobu you useless piece of shit, why haven't you returned my calls!"

Nnoitra looked up with a start, seeming to freeze for a moment as he took in the arrival of this person who harangued him for ignoring her. Szayel noted with some discomfort how familiar the two seemed to be, and this familiarity was only further evidenced by the response Nnoitra gave.

"Fuyumi, what are you doing here?" he asked, and the woman named Fuyumi shot him a disgusted look, placing one elegant hand on her cocked hip. She was, Szayel observed, very beautiful and unusually tall for a Japanese woman. She was slim, with a modest chest and hips, and though her face was fine and long, it did not look drawn out. Her lips were currently twisted down into a scowl, but Szayel could tell they were full and pretty when not thinned in anger. Her eyes, framed by long, black hair that fell to mid back, gleamed a rich burgundy-wine color. Contacts. There was no way that color was natural, though she carried it off as if it were.

Szayel felt a twinge of envy, his own eyes narrowing slightly as he appraised her.

"Why do you think, dumbass? I am not letting you skip out on Christmas _again_," she fumed. Her eyes shifted over to Szayel now, as if noticing his presence for the first time, and she arched one delicate eyebrow, "Who the hell is this?"

"Szayel Aporro Granz, Nobu's boyfriend," Szayel interjected coolly, "And you are?"

The woman looked him over critically for a moment, eyes lingering on his hair and the placement of Nnoitra's hands on his body. Her gaze soon flitted back up to his, assessment complete, and her voice was only slightly less hostile though no less disdainful.

"I'm his little sister."

His eyes widened slightly as he made the connection. Really… now that his mind was not muddled with suspicion and he paused to think about it, he could see the resemblance. Both were tall, though Nnoitra still dwarfed her, and were long of limb. Their faces were structured similarly, with the same flowing dark hair. She lacked his leering grin and narrow eyes however; hers were set at the typical Japanese angle.

Fuyumi meanwhile had moved her attention back to Nnoitra.

"You sure know how to pick them, Nobu. I suppose he's as moronic as the last one."

"There are a variety of adjectives you could apply ta him. Moronic ain't one of them."

"Well he's flashy."

"So're you Fuyumi."

"I'd appreciate it if you'd stop talking about me as if I were not present," Szayel commented dryly, having extricated himself from Nnoitra's arms and slid off his lap to stand, drawing attention to himself again. Fuyumi looked at him, lips still drawn in a scowl.

"Give me reason to acknowledge you," she countered, though she seemed not to be ignoring him anymore. Her attention was fully on him, waiting for his reply. Szayel's lips tugged into a half smile; leave it to Nnoitra's sister to be so intense.

"I take it you assume me to be one of Nobu's vapid, pretty playthings. Understandable. But do not render judgment so quickly based solely on my appearance."

Fuyumi's expression changed fractionally. She looked more guarded and less disdainful, a reaction that entertained him. Whatever response she'd been expecting, it hadn't been that.

"So if you're not his latest boytoy, then what are you?" she asked, her tone still cynical though with an undercurrent of suspicion now.

"Didn't I already say? I'm his boyfriend. Ergo, a more than transient relationship exists between us."

"Whatever. Tell me that in a year; maybe I'll believe it then. Nobu, you better call me and make arrangements or I swear I will drag you bodily to Christmas dinner, which I am helping with this year."

"Fuck, Fuyumi! Ya wanna kill me?" Nnoitra replied, and his little sister's scowl became defensive.

"I've been practicing."

"Promise me you'll stay outa the kitchen and I'll talk about it, kay?"

"Call me," was all she said before turning on her heel and departing. It was Hiroko, who still leaned in the doorway that led to the kitchen, who spoke up first.

"Driven as ever, isn't she?" the woman observed with amusement as Nnoitra groaned.

"Ya don't know the half of it," he complained wearily, "She fuckin' dogs me year round, no matter what I tell 'er."

"But you like that Takeda. You won't admit it, but you like that she stays in contact with you," Hiroko remarked, and Nnoitra made a disparaging sound.

"Tch," he muttered, but didn't contradict her. Hiroko smirked.

"So Inventor, what do you think of Fuyumi?" she asked, shifting her attention to the scientist who had been momentarily forgotten in Nnoitra's angsting.

"There's a strong family resemblance," was Szayel's observation, which elicited a chuckle in reply from Nnoitra. When he looked to him questioningly, he got a grin in return.

"You were jealous," the lanky man commented in explanation, and Szayel frowned.

"What?"

"Jealous," he repeated smugly, flaunting the word. Szayel's frown deepened while Nnoitra's grin widened, and he felt the very tempting urge to smack him.

"Your sister is beautiful and given your past record, it was not an unfair assumption," Szayel defended. It earned him an insufferably pleased look from Nnoitra, who quirked a finger at him to return. This playful gesture was met with flat refusal.

"Aw, don't be so stubborn Szay. I just find it sweet I can make ya jealous. You know. Since there's practically nothin' else that makes you envious?" Nnoitra said, trying to win him over. Szayel tilted his head, considering for a moment, then shook it.

"You want me, you can walk over here," he remarked unsympathetically. Nnoitra rolled his eyes.

"What do I get if I join you?" he asked playfully. Szayel offered him a chilly little smile.

"The pleasure of my company, which will be walking out of this door presently if you don't stop being an ass."

"Eesh."

Nnoitra stood, walking over.

"Ya sleep with a guy and you'd expect him ta loosen up a little, ne?"

"It's going to take more than one night," Szayel remarked dryly, which earned him a lewd smile.

"I'm free right now," he purred, leaning in suggestively. Rather than become flustered as he might usually, Szayel played along, moving into his touch.

"But you see, Nnoi…" he murmured softly, brushing a strand of his ebony hair out of his face, "I've no interest in forfeiting our bargain so soon."

"Damn," said Nnoitra with feeling as Szayel retreated a couple feet, looking after him longingly. His wistful gaze was met with a cheeky smile from the scientist, who drifted over to greet Hiroko and inquire after her health.

"Still kicking," she answered, "Though I do wonder how you are after taking a full round."

"Let's just say I'm exceptionally difficult to kill," he remarked wryly. Across the room, Nnoitra snorted. Hiroko raised an eyebrow at this, then motioned for Szayel to follow her to the back of the shop.

"You wouldn't tell me even if I interrogated you, I know. Not if it was something you wanted to keep secret, so I won't even start. But you seem to know how to handle yourself in a fight, so there's something I've been meaning to ask."

"Yes?" he prompted, following her into the kitchen and pulling up a chair across from her at the foldout table she'd already set out for her underlings to sit at when they arrived later. Nnoitra trailed behind them, leaning in the doorway idly as he listened in on their conversation. Hiroko glanced over at him once before putting forth her proposition, and Szayel understood her look.

"I want you to teach Takeda how to fight. At the very least, I'd like you to teach him how to defend himself, because chances are, someone will make another attempt on his life eventually."

Nnoitra made a choked sound as Szayel smiled, leaning in curiously.

"You want me to teach my boyfriend how to kill? Really Ms. Hiroko?"

"I don't know where or why you learned how, but if you're going to spend time together, work a few self defense lessons in. Some gun work maybe. Nothing fancy."

"I can do better than that."

"Will you two stop deciding my future without consulting me?" Nnoitra spoke up irritably.

"Man up, Nnoitra," Szayel remarked, casting him an impish look. Hiroko also grinned.

"Your uke's more hardcore than you, Takeda."

Nnoitra left the room at that point, muttering something under his breath about keeping bad company. After a moment, Szayel turned back to Hiroko with a sly expression on his face.

"What makes you think I'm uke?" he asked teasingly.

Hiroko quirked an eyebrow, looking intrigued.

"Do elaborate, Granz."

-.-.-.-.-.-

"Szay, I need ta ask you a favor," Nnoitra said as soon as the call went through. Szayel blinked, taken off guard by his request; they hadn't even exchanged greetings yet.

"What is it?"

"Could you come with me somewhere today?"

"When?" he asked, lips tilting down slightly at the short notice.

"In like, an hour."

Szayel shot the specter of Nnoitra that stood before him a slightly irritated look. The other man knew he preferred advance notice.

"Where?"

"I meant to contact ya earlier, it just slipped my mind," Nnoitra said sheepishly, "I'm supposed to meet up with Fuyumi today and I wanted to bring you."

"Why? This is your meeting with her, not mine," Szayel said. Nnoitra sighed.

"Yeah, I know. But I wanted you ta meet her."

"I already did a week ago."

"I mean _meet_ her. You only saw her when she was pissy. Come on… I think she's actually someone you'd like."

"Oh really? And why on Earth would that be the case?" Szayel asked dryly.

"Just trust me on this one," Nnoitra said, smiling mysteriously. Szayel paused, mulling it over. When he spoke up again, his tone was resigned.

"You know, if we do hit it off you are in deep shit if you ever dump me. I'll recruit her in guilt tripping you."

Nnoitra grinned, unfazed.

"Thanks Szay. Meet me down at the café and we'll proceed from there. The place isn't too far away."

He disappeared, disconnecting, and Szayel watched the place he'd been, slightly disgruntled. It was a good thing he'd taken a shower the night before; Nnoitra left him with no time to take one today. Running a hand through his hair, Szayel went to pick something out to wear.

-.-.-.-.-.-

He wasn't quite sure what to expect when he encountered Nnoitra's younger sister for the second time. Maybe he anticipated an intense young woman to be waiting for them at that black wrought-iron table outside of yet another coffee shop. But the person he found was nothing of the sort. She looked almost Zen as she watched pedestrians amble by, sipping a cup of something hot that steamed enticingly in the chill air. A black coat hung off her shoulders; open in the front to reveal a forest green turtleneck, a mid thigh length shell skirt, and tall black boots that emphasized her long legs spectacularly. As they approached her, she turned her head to look at them, and he could see that she'd switched her burgundy contacts out for emerald.

"Shit, aren't ya cold Yumi?" Nnoitra asked as he pulled up a chair, indicating for Szayel to do the same.

"I might be less cold if you hadn't taken your sweet time, Nobu," she remarked, though not seriously, "If you'll recall, I am indoors most of the time."

"Social recluse," said Nnoitra, shaking his head.

"Well paid social recluse," she retorted, taking another sip of her drink before speaking up again, "So then, to business. Are you going to come home for Christmas or should I start sorting through my blackmail material?"

"Christmas…" Nnoitra said hesitantly, stalling, "Well ya see, about Christmas-"

"No," Fuyumi cut in, her green eyes darkening as she set her drink down, "None of your excuses. Whatever you're really doing for work, I don't care. But it's not fair to mom and dad for you to just vanish from their lives. They haven't seen you in two years, maybe longer."

"It's not like they really care, that's just you, Yumi. You're the one they adore. I'm their mistake," Nnoitra said, lips thinning. Fuyumi shot him an incredulous look.

"God you're such an idiot sometimes. I busted my ass to get where I am today. You double majored, Nobu. The only thing you fucked up on was what you chose to double major in. At this point, they're more disappointed that you never went back to say goodbye. Just… dropped off the face of the planet."

"I've got my reasons…" Nnoitra said after a long pause, giving a terse reply. Fuyumi gave him an angry look, but her words were more pained than anything else.

"They miss you Nobu. I miss you. How difficult would it be to at least call them every once in a while? You know their numbers…"

He had no reply to this, just looked uncomfortable as he sat in his chair, not quite bold enough to meet her eyes. Eyes in which lived a phantom of his past; an old regret he'd never laid to rest. And as he deliberated over Fuyumi's words, she reached across the table to grasp his hands, face looking wistful.

"Please Nobu? Please come home this year?"

Nnoitra cracked at her imploring look and tone, so different from her usual heated words. With a sigh, he squeezed her hands, then let go and straightened again.

"Fine. It goes against my better judgment, but I'll go," he conceded, agreeing. Her face brightened and her lips drew up into the first smile he'd seen from her.

"Thanks ani," she said warmly, the first time he'd heard her directly call him brother. Nnoitra glanced away, eyes flitting over to Szayel.

"Just one condition. He has to come," he said.

The mood instantly changed.

"What!" Szayel and Fuyumi both exclaimed, looking first to Nnoitra then back to each other. They sized each other up dubiously, Fuyumi voicing her objection first.

"Christmas is supposed to be for family. He isn't family!"

"Nnoi, I hardly think you have the right to include me in an ultimatum without consulting me first," Szayel added, equally pissed.

Nnoitra raised his hands defensively, motioning for their silence.

"Look. There're the terms. If he doesn't go, I don't either," he said. Fuyumi glowered at him from across the table, eyes narrowing, but it was Szayel who spoke up first. His tone was flat, unamused, and his expression critical.

"Don't use me as an excuse to get out of this. You know how I feel about interacting with people and you know this is something I would avoid."

"Whose side are you on?" Nnoitra protested.

"The right one," Fuyumi declared, looking hurt and furious, "God you're such a sleazy asshole. Show an ounce of commitment for once and do this one thing for me."

She stood then, eyes flashing and hands clenched as she prepared to walk off. And she did, starting away and putting a few paces between them before Nnoitra caught up with her and stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. When she looked back at him, Szayel could see her eyes were shiny with tears.

"Just go away…" she said, brushing off Nnoitra's hand, but he only turned her around, wrapping his arms around her. After a moment, she returned his hug, burying her face in his shoulder.

Szayel watched them make up, feeling distinctly useless in this whole scene. They separated after a minute, and Nnoitra led her back over to her seat. Reaching up, she plucked out her contacts so she could wipe her eyes, which he saw were a dark brown before she put the contacts back in again, exhaling heavily. Though she composed herself with remarkable speed, there was no hiding the puffy redness around her eyes and nose that accompanied crying.

"Don't cry Yumi," Nnoitra said when it seemed she'd gathered herself up, "I'll drop by for Christmas. Promise. But I would like you to do one thing for me."

"What?" she asked, voice still thick with lingering emotion.

"You're probably wondering why I brought him with me today," he said, gesturing towards Szayel, "Well, I'd like you to talk to him."

"Why, Nobu?" she asked wearily, "How could I possibly benefit from talking to him?"

"Well you're both terrible about meeting people outside of work, so I think it would be good for ya."

"I'm not desperate for company," she said moodily, crossing her fingers and staring down at them intently. Nnoitra offered her a faint smile.

"Just talk. I'm gonna go get somethin' to drink, and when I get back, I expect to see some interaction."

Rising, he departed, leaving them to stare at each other across the table as he entered the shop. Silence reigned between them for a long moment until Fuyumi finally spoke up.

"So," she said doubtfully, "Do you have any idea why my brother wants us to talk so badly?"

"Some," Szayel replied quietly, "I suspect it has something to do with socializing me. He thinks I need to make friends to be a better person."

"You don't look like someone who would have trouble meeting people," she remarked, eyes flickering over him in a silent assessment. His lips quirked upwards in amusement.

"Well, you don't look it either."

She became thoughtful at that, sitting back in her chair and picking up her forgotten drink, which she cradled absentmindedly between her hands.

"I'm not… good with social interaction. I was always so busy studying as a kid, I never really found time to make relationships with people. Doesn't help that I'm kind of limited when it comes to who I can talk to now that I'm employed," she admitted.

"Devoted to studying… I can relate," Szayel commented, interest aroused, "You might say my social life foundered for similar reasons. So, what is it you do?"

"Ah…" she said, gathering her thoughts as she considered how to reply, "Well, I guess the easiest answer is that I'm a scientist. More specifically, I'm an engineer, but I've got a focus in the biological aspect of the field. I'm also involved in pharmacology and the development of vaccines and medications."

This earned her a raised eyebrow as Szayel leaned forward, now genuinely intrigued.

"And you are how old?"

"Twenty three. I skipped a few grades, took college courses in high school and summer courses in college. I'm finishing up my master's thesis right now."

"Incredible."

"All you need is motivation… and the sacrifice of most human contact. I've honestly no clue how to introduce myself without feeling like a moron," she replied, lips pulling down into a grimace at this last bit. After a moment, she looked up at him, expectant, "So then Szayel Aporro Granz, what's your excuse?"

He grinned at her, folding his fingers delicately. Despite her brush off, ascribing her achievements to nothing more than motivation, it was clear she had an excellent mind. Damn Nnoitra, he'd known. Szayel made a mental note to trust his judgment more often in the future.

"It just so happens that I'm a scientist as well, and while I've dabbled myriad fields, the biological emphasis really is quite fascinating, isn't it? A field tragically neglected for the longest time. But what keeps me from meeting people is that being head of an inventing firm really does limit casual interaction."

It was her turn to raise an eyebrow as she looked him over critically, clearly questioning his claim.

"You're the head of a corporation? The CEO? Hell, you can't be any older than Nobu and he's twenty six."

"Mmm… I'm older than I look. He's being terrible and dating an older man," Szayel commented teasingly.

"Well how old is that?"

"I don't like to say. God, I think I had this same conversation with him a few days ago."

"I've never heard of you," she remarked cynically, still having trouble believing him.

"That's because I'm so famous, I go by the title people have bestowed upon me," Szayel said, his smile broadening.

"Which would be?"

"Well that you really wouldn't believe Ms. Takeda, so I won't even touch upon it."

"You're too flamboyant to be a CEO," she said suspiciously.

"They say scientists are the bohemian lot nowadays. Frankly, I think that's bull; I believe we're all entitled to look good doing our work."

"You look like a gay model."

He didn't bat an eye at her remark, tilting his head instead as his eyelids lowered to appraise her in a feline manner.

"You don't look half bad yourself," he said lightly, "As I'll choose to interpret your remark as a dubious compliment."

Fuyumi cracked another smile, shaking her head and looking amused.

"So Mr. Aporro, how did you meet my brother?"

"He mugged me in an alley, clipped a dog collar around my throat, felt me up, and stole a kiss. In that order. Then he walked off; it was love at first sight of course," Szayel replied with more delight than he should have felt. At her stunned look, he laughed.

"You're joking," she said, sounding slightly uncertain. He flashed her an indulging smile.

"Yes, it wasn't love at first sight. How often does _that_ happen? No, I hunted your brother down just to make him squirm. I was irritated you see, understandably so I should think. Instead, he pulled a fast one on me and pinned me up against a tree. We were interrupted by a call he had to take."

Her facial muscles twitched as she took a sip of her drink, which no longer steamed.

"That slut," she muttered, leaning forward. Her green eyes flickered back up to Szayel's after a moment, "So why are you two going out now?"

"I'll admit I took an unhealthy interest in him afterwards which developed into genuine feelings on my part. It might be because I'd gone so long without someone to talk to and the alternative was boredom."

"Well it seems to me the feeling is mutual," she said.

"What do you mean?" he asked, eyeing her sharply.

Nnoitra chose that moment to return with a pair of cups, which he set down on the table, looking pleased.

"Wow, you aren't tearing each other apart with snarky insults. I'm impressed," he said.

Fuyumi waved him away, frowning.

"Shoo. I'm talking. Go entertain yourself somewhere else for the next ten minutes."

"Hey hey, you're the one who dogged me for weeks trying to get me to talk," Nnoitra pointed out.

"Well we talked. Now I'm talking to your boyfriend like you wanted me to."

"How come I can't listen in?" Nnoitra asked, feigning disappointment.

"'Cause we're talking about you."

"Oh. Shit. Uh, you don't need to tell him any embarrassing stories," Nnoitra said, wincing at the thought. Fuyumi grinned.

"If you'd just leave now…"

"Gotcha," said the lanky man, setting one of the cups in front of Szayel before turning and walking back into the shop. They watched the spot where he'd disappeared for a moment before turning back to each other. Szayel uncapped his drink, the waft of steam that floated up to greet his nose identifying it as cocoa. He recapped it, taking a sip.

"Like I was saying, it seems like the feeling is mutual," Fuyumi began again, "Nobu doesn't usually act so considerately towards the people he goes out with."

"It's just small things he buys. Food. He has me pay for everything else," Szayel commented wryly.

"Well of course. He's opportunistic. But hmm… let me think… Have you two had sex yet?"

Szayel covered his eyes as heat crept into his face. Once again, he found himself discussing his sex life with someone else. Maybe it was just a human thing.

"Yes," he admitted reluctantly.

"See, usually that's all he's after. A bit of fun, some money… He breaks it off before either party becomes too invested. It's like a game to him."

"It still is a game," Szayel said, uncovering his face to look at her, "He hasn't quite reached his final goal."

"Well regardless, he introduced you to me," Fuyumi said practically. Szayel frowned.

"And this matters why?"

"Because he never does that. Just once before, and she's the reason why he's so flighty when it comes to attachment now."

_Just once before…_ So, this really was something unusual? Well, he knew Nnoitra blew through lovers like wildfire, never committing himself to one single person. But it had been strange that he'd wanted him to get to know Fuyumi. How could it possibly benefit Nnoitra? Perhaps in the long run, but that would require a long run to begin with…

"Kimiko was her name I think. Destructive little bitch. Unfortunately, she was Nobu's first love."

"Kimiko?" Szayel said, cutting into her musings. He gave her a sharp look which Fuyumi returned with an interested expression.

"You know that whore?"

"I think I met her at Nnoi's reunion party."

"Yeah, you might have. She was always into parties and drinking and sleeping around. She was pretty and popular. My poor stupid brother was smitten. I don't know the details of their falling out, but it was bad."

"Evidently so…" Szayel murmured, thoughtful. It had affected him for so long…

"So, why are you with him? You seem to know his habits; that he doesn't like to commit. Why bother?" she inquired, curious now.

"I'm not sure, but I do care about him. He's probably not the best person to go out with, but then, neither am I, and he can be surprisingly considerate when he wants to be."

"What is he involved in?" Fuyumi asked suddenly, switching the topic, "He won't tell me, but I'm pretty sure it's illegal. Do you know?"

"Yes, but I don't think that's something I should be spilling if he doesn't want you to know. It is a rather sensitive topic for him. I only found out by accident."

"How 'by accident?'"

"I got sucked into it myself."

"I'm family. His sister. I should know what's going on in his life," Fuyumi protested, but Szayel shook his head.

"That's precisely why he keeps it secret. He doesn't want you getting involved or hurt."

"Hurt."

Her expression soured at this word.

"So it is something dangerous and illegal."

"Yes."

"And you… you got involved?"

"I did, but I'm also a very capable person. To the point where on two occasions, I helped your brother out of a nasty scrape."

"I see…"

She seemed a little down at this statement, and he knew what emotions were running through her. Disappointment that he didn't confide in her, helplessness that she couldn't do a thing about it. Even resentment for that feeling of uselessness. She really did love Nnoitra, under that tough veneer she'd built up.

"I'm glad then. You don't seem to be a bad sort," she finally said, speaking up again.

"I wouldn't say that," Szayel remarked, grinning. She gave him a distinctly unimpressed look.

"Drop the bad boy commentary. It's not appealing."

"Didn't I say I'm the head of a company? I've got a certain amount of _leverage_."

"Oh cram it," she said, but she was also smiling again. He found that he liked seeing her smile. This was someone important to Nnoitra, and to whom Nnoitra was important to as well. It helped that she was smart, pretty, and driven.

"So, how do your student loans look?" he asked, sitting back and sipping his cocoa casually. The whipped cream had begun to melt into the drink, and he tasted the foamy cream as he swallowed, licking the sweet liquid off his lips. Fuyumi's face twisted unpleasantly.

"Well it could have been much worse. I managed to get several scholarships, but there were ten thousand US dollars-worth of loans I had to take out towards the end. I couldn't get all the programs I took covered. I'm just starting to pay that off now."

"That's not a light sum of money," he observed offhandedly. She shook her head.

"But at least I have a job that pays well enough for me to work it off. Nobu wasn't so lucky. I do wonder how he pays his debt."

Szayel made a vague sound, knowing full well how he paid off his debt and beginning to understand some of his motivation for becoming involved with the yakuza. Hiroko didn't seem like someone who would pull her employees into illicit affairs on a whim.

"Debt really is such an unpleasant thing."

"Yeah, I hate it. I don't like being in debt to anyone," Fuyumi said, shaking her head. He could tell it burned her, not having been able to get through her education free of loans. It was why she had worked so hard in the first place.

"Do you think it was worth it?" he asked. Her bitter expression softened, and she sighed, looking pensive.

"Well…" she began, "I didn't want to end up like Nobu. I always knew I wanted to make money and be able to live financially independent. But part of me looked up to him too. I saw how he genuinely wanted to help people and make the world better. Sure, he's a jaded guy now, but he wasn't always so cynical. And along the way, I realized I wanted that too, and maybe the work I was doing could provide me with a more realistic way to do that. So no… I don't have any regrets. My loans will take me a few years to pay off, but that's the sacrifice most people have to pay anyways."

_Back when I was young an' idealistic…_ He distantly remembered Nnoitra saying something of the like a while ago. And here it seemed his more logical sister followed in the same footsteps. Both wanted to improve the world. Both were idealists, just taking differing paths.

It was something he wished he could understand; that desire to do good for selfless reasons. To help people one had never heard of with no guaranteed return on that aid. But he didn't understand it, so instead, Szayel just nodded at her answer, feeling slightly unsettled.

"Is there anyone in particular who inspires you?" he asked to keep the conversation going so she wouldn't catch on to his sudden awkwardness.

"Well aside from Nobu, the Inventor I guess. I mean, he's such an iconic figure in the technological revolution. It's incredible what he achieved in the span of a lifetime. Calculating all that he accomplished, he must have started relatively young," she replied thoughtfully. He offered her a mildly inquisitive look, hiding his own amusement at her reply. If only she knew that her inspiration sat before her sipping cocoa in front of a quaint little café in early December, very much alive.

"Oh? Don't you ever wonder about him though? That maybe he's not all he's made out to be? He was only human; no one remains truly pure who has power. Perhaps he had a dark side to him under all that generosity?"

She shot him a funny look, finishing off her drink before setting it aside and leaning in.

"Everyone has a dark side, to varying degrees. But whatever his agenda, whatever ill he did to reach that pinnacle of power, there is no denying the good he did do. Maybe that good was, hypothetically, done for selfish reasons. But it was still good. The world was a darker place eighty years ago; he helped to brighten it a bit."

Szayel felt a little stunned by her explanation, never having considered this angle before. That while he privately mocked humans for praising him so blindly, there might be another side to the praise. An acknowledgement that perhaps he wasn't the technological messiah come down to better the world because that was his destiny. That perhaps he was selfish and motivated by less than pure intentions. But nevertheless, he had improved the world. He had done "good."

And that was the strangest of realizations.

"Ah…" he said simply, not quite sure what to say to her, "That's an interesting point of view."

She shrugged, as if it were no big deal. And to her it may not have been, but it applied very intimately to him. It was the whole of his purpose here on Earth after all.

"Hey. I know I'm not perfect either. I started out wanting to make money, but reasons evolve. People change. I bet that was how the Inventor started out too. I don't know. Maybe not. But sometimes it's nice to try to bring your idols down to a more human level and understand them as people rather than symbols."

"What if they prefer to remain symbols?"

Fuyumi smiled.

"Well I think that would get boring and lonely. Once you're that high up, the only way to get back down is to fall. So, back to reality. What is it you do? And can I call you Szayel? I've never really been into formality."

"What is it I do…" Szayel parroted, lips quirking upwards. She had no idea what she was getting into, but that was ok. It was the first time in a long while he'd gotten the opportunity to talk about the work he did with someone intelligent enough to understand him. Refreshing, really.

"Well to begin, yes; you may call me Szayel, and as for the things I do, I think we'd better move this discussion inside. I have a feeling this will take some time."

He stood, offering her his free hand, which she accepted with an impish look that reminded him strongly of her brother.

"Wow. Chivalry. And you even manage to pull it off without seeming like a condescending chauvinist ass," she remarked as she stood, picking up her empty paper cup to discard.

"Oh, I assure you I'm just selfishly trying to get into your good graces," Szayel sad as they walked over to the door.

"It only works because you look so ridiculous. Why pink hair?"

"Why not?"

"How do people take you seriously?"

"They are unimportant. Their opinions do not matter."

"Arrogant much?"

"I never denied it my dear."

"Ok, _now_ you sound condescending," she said as they marched over to where Nnoitra sat in a corner that conveniently had a window view. He grinned up at them as they approached.

"Yo," he said by way of greeting.

"People watching again?" Fuyumi asked as she sat down, tone tinged with playful criticism.

"It's fun," was his pert reply.

"It's creepy," said Szayel as he took a seat as well. Nnoitra's grin widened.

"Guess that makes you a creeper too. So, do I need to worry about losin' my boyfriend Yumi? You two seem pretty chummy."

"I'm considering it," she replied airily before turning back to Szayel, "So? You were saying?"

"Ah yes, my work."

"Oh fuck. Do I have to listen to you wax nerdly?" Nnoitra spoke up, seeming resigned. This earned him a pair of smirks.

"We could always talk about you," Szayel said delicately. Nnoitra looked away.

"Nah…. Sciency shit is fine. Go ahead, get it out of yer system ya antisocial freak."

It was all the invitation they needed to launch into an animated discussion that soon had heads turning their direction to shoot them strange looks. Especially when at one point, a pen and napkin were produced and a theorem scrawled out, defended, and criticized in heated tones. Nnoitra just sat back in his chair, watching them debate and rant and brighten as inspiration hit them, a bemused expression on his face. And by the time they walked out of the shop again, cheeks glowing with enthusiasm, he was fractionally concerned at what he might have done by bringing these two together. However, all concerns were promptly banished when Szayel turned around and pulled him down into a passionate kiss.

"You were right," he announced, effervescent and a little giddy on endorphins, and Nnoitra stared down at him dazedly.

"Right about what?" he asked.

"That she was someone I'd like," he replied. Remembering "she" was still in their presence, he looked over at her, offering her a wink.

"It was good to meet you properly this time, Fuyumi. You'll hear from me or one of my associates some time soon in regards to your financial situation."

"Szay, yer gonna scare her off doin' that," Nnoitra said.

Fuyumi just seemed nonplussed.

"What the hell are you talking about?" she demanded.

"You'll see," he said cryptically, then tugged Nnoitra away, waving goodbye. Lunch was long over and both siblings had to get back to their respective jobs. Nnoitra shook his head wonderingly as they walked off.

"Seriously, should I be worried?" he asked of his enthusiastic companion. Szayel offered him a curious look.

"I can't be excited?"

"This is my sister you're excited about."

"Oh bosh, I'm not going to do anything to her."

"Good. I'm kinda fond of her the way she is."

"Well… she is charming. Beautiful, intelligent.."

"Szay…" Nnoitra said in warning, actually looking slightly alarmed. Szayel grinned.

"Just teasing you. Mostly," he said in a playful tone. And that was that. He refused to answer any more of Nnoitra's questions, his mind busy with other considerations. Because whether she realized it or not, Fuyumi had gotten a few cogs turning in his head, and these were not ideas that soon abandoned him, even after the day had drawn to a close.

* * *

**A/N:** It's up. After four and a half months, it's finally up. And my explanation for why I took so long to update follows. (In other words, you're in for a long-ass A/N…)

September I decided to take a break after two updates since school was starting and I wanted to relax. I intended to update at the end of September or early October, but this didn't happen because in October, I lost my purple pen. From the beginning of this story, I have first written my chapters out by hand, then typed them up. But chapters 10 through 16, I made a challenge to myself to write in a notebook and fill it up completely. I started with a purple pen, and so as not to break continuity, continued writing with purple pens the whole way through, replacing them as the ink ran out. Then I lost the will to write, all over losing my current purple pen. I didn't want to finish typing the chapter up or switch to a different color pen, so I just let the story languish. (I succeeded with this last chapter in filling up the notebook completely by the way. And yes, the irony of writing prose in purple has been pointed out to me)

In November, I rediscovered my lost pen, however, I got sucked into National Novel Writing Month, which I devoted to updating Mariposa. (Consequentially I now have people hounding me to update that one whereas before, FP was the only fic that really received a lot of attention *Sobs*) But by the time November ended and December rolled around, I was caught up in college finals.

The aftermath of these finals left me exhausted, so I took a couple weeks to rest before starting on my project to update all my fics by Christmas, New Years, and Epiphany. I failed, updating only three of my fics and leaving Fuchsia Phoenix and Impressions incomplete. The reason being that a new college quarter began, one which is currently bogging me down with so much work I'm going out of my mind (and I still have my high school work GFDI)

Soo… there you have my reason for not updating until mid January. Thank MLK weekend (yay holidays!) for your update. That, and boredom. And my parents hogging the internet today, which is definitely a source of distraction when I have free time. c:

On the chapter itself, it was definitely a transition chapter, introducing certain events and elements that will become increasingly more apparent in later chapters. Hopefully you guys enjoyed it, and I am so sorry if this was not worth waiting for. I'd be pissed if I waited so long for a crap update too. You got to meet another OC of mine invented for this fic; Fuyumi, Nnoi's sister. The concept for her came to me randomly in the shower several months back, and I decided to introduce some of Nnoitra's family along with some more of his backstory. He's more than a promiscuous Mafioso who works in a café after all. :D

Now, if you've stayed with me through this note, you get to hear some bad news. I labeled this story as a tragedy and put out a disclaimer at the beginning of the fic, but I feel it is time to remind you again of that fact so I don't get hate mail in the later chapters. I always intended this to end miserably, but I never realized just how bad it would be until about a month ago when I started to write but found I'd lost inspiration and the writing was going a completely different direction. A friend helped get me back on my feet, but at a cost. The story has now changed, and while I'm both pleased and depressed by it, it will be heading down a darker road than I'd originally thought. (If you detect unsubtle foreshadowing, you're probably spot on)

So, stay with me if it pleases you. I hope to god this doesn't take so long to put out the next time. Review and give me feedback please; that would be awesome and probably more than I deserve for delaying this story so long for such a silly reason. x_x;; See you in the next update.


	17. Undercurrent

It was hard to escape the advertising this time of year- it proliferated the country more thoroughly than his inventions. In fact, the only sanctuary he found from the holiday season was in his own subterranean suite where he could kill all influence from the outside world if he desired. But making his way through Karakura City, he was exposed to the whole cabal of festive jingles, lights, Christmas trees, holiday icons like Santa Claus in various permutations, decorations, commercials on screens and billboards and holograms… And it was almost entirely a corporate affair. Christmas was a religious celebration for a very small number of Japanese. But then, the world as a whole had been trending towards a commercialized Christmas season for decades.

He himself took advantage of the seasonal sales spike in November and December to rake in a profit. It was inevitable that Szayel would occasionally find himself face to face with or listening to one of his own advertisements. In a world where gaudy advertising was the norm, his could afford to be quieter and more sophisticated. Everyone knew the brand. Everyone worth _something_ would be buying at least one of his products before the twenty fifth. Still, it was hard to be positive about it when he was listening to the same song for what had to have been the nineteenth time that morning. His mood had been steadily declining for the past week as the middle of December approached and the number of Christmas jingles playing on the radio increased.

Hiroko caught his murderous look and promptly switched it off.

"Now Mr. Granz, don't go threatening my property," she said.

"I never threatened," he replied.

"No, you never _acted_ on the threat. But you were thinking about it. And scowling at my radio like you wanted to defenestrate it."

"I would not have defenestrated it. It would have met with a less obvious demise."

"I like my radio, Granz."

"I would have replaced it with a superior model, Mrs. Hiroko."

"Yeah. In a month maybe."

"It might behoove you to leave it off a little more often if you value its integrity."

"And it might behoove _you_ to spend less time skulking about my shop. Because I like Christmas music, and you are always free to walk out that front door if you don't."

They faced off- she with her hand towel twisted casually, he with one floury hand on his hip (his clothes were spared the ruin by a shop apron). After a minute, Szayel turned back to his ball of dough and continued abusing it. It wasn't worth getting up in arms against Hiroko. Practically like kicking a puppy, there was no game in it. He already knew he'd win if it came right down to it.

Nnoitra chose that moment to poke his head into the kitchen.

"What're you doin' here so early, Szay?"

"Stress baking," Szayel replied.

"Sulking," Hiroko corrected.

Szayel shot her a filthy look. She grinned back.

"Uh… right," said Nnoitra, glancing between them, "I'll just get my work apron on then." He ducked back out of sight and didn't reappear for several minutes.

Szayel shaped his dough into something roughly humanoid and proceeded to amputate limbs. It was mildly therapeutic. He wondered if Hiroko would allow him to bake crippled gingerbread men to sell.

Probably not.

He'd do it anyways.

Or he would have if Hiroko hadn't thrown him out of the kitchen as soon as Nnoitra popped back in.

"Go distract your boyfriend before he starts slipping poison in my food," she said as she confiscated the gingerbread dough from Szayel. He grumbled mutinous things in turn as Nnoitra pulled him out of the kitchen and sat him down behind the register.

"Should I worry about poisoned pastries?" the lanky man inquired. It was endearing how he actually gave Hiroko's joking comment some consideration. As he should.

"Maybe."

"What's got you snippy today?"

"Christmas."

"Christmas?"

There was a weighted pause, then Nnoitra shook his head and went to go arrange the chairs.

"What've you got against Christmas?"

"I'm not really a holiday person."

"Uh huh. No shit. Why Christmas specifically?"

"It's particularly obnoxious, that's all. So much ado about nothing, so many vapid songs playing on an endless loop. I don't see why the Japanese had to adopt it when it's not even all that relevant to their culture."

"Hey, it's an excuse to celebrate with the people you love and get free stuff. Seems like a pretty sweet deal to me," said Nnoitra.

Szayel glanced at him across the room, then wrinkled his nose and looked away.

"Well of course _you'd_ enjoy it."

"You're just being bitter, Szay. Betcha you don't get any presents on Christmas."

"As if I need any. I can already buy myself whatever I want."

"God you're cranky today." Nnoitra drifted back over to the register. "Look, genius, let's take Saturday off and just walk around downtown. See the tree in the square, visit the winter market, catch some of the advertising demos. You know. Get out."

"And why in god's name would I want to do that, Nnoitra?"

"Because it's fun, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let you brood for the rest of the month. You can get really unpleasant to be around when you're in a bitchy mood."

"I think our definitions of 'fun' vary immensely." Szayel gave him a sort of weary, half-hearted glare, but conceded. "Just this once."

Nnoitra grinned.

"That's my pink haired freak."

Szayel took the opportunity to clean his hands on a towel. He'd grown used to the endearment, but it came across as patronizing in this instance. Never one to miss a beat, Nnoitra changed the conversation topic.

"So anyways, Fuyumi gave me a call last night. She was pretty incoherent, but she mentioned something about debt and a crazy pink haired bastard in between dramatic gesturing and foot stomping and hyperventilating, so I figured she meant you."

"Did she say what she wanted?" Szayel asked, perking up at this bit of news. He'd been wondering how she'd react.

"Oh, it was either to smash your face into a wall repeatedly or she wanted your number. Maybe both. It was pretty unclear."

A smile slithered across his face, and Szayel chuckled. Perfect. He'd have to hack Nnoitra's chip and watch the call later. "Did you give her my number?"

"Nah, she disconnected soon after, though I figured you might be a little tetchy about my giving out your number even if I'd had the time. Here's hers though, in case you wanted to gloat in person over whatever it is you did."

Nnoitra passed him a business card with Fuyumi's contact information. He eyed it contemplatively.

"You'd give me your sister's contact information?"

"Heh, you'd find it anyways if you really wanted to. Besides, I think you two will probably do each other some good."

"Still trying to humanize me?"

"Nah babe, I'm not stupid." Nnoitra tapped his head, ever present grin widening. "I already know. You're a monster."

His answer was too easy. Szayel pocketed the card, then slid off the stool to sidle up to Nnoitra. The man looked a little intrigued as he ran his fingers across his apron conspiratorially.

"You know, Hiroko wants me to teach you how to kill. We still have to work those lessons in somewhere…"

Nnoitra's face blanched a little, and he looked away, suddenly much less interested that Szayel was hanging off him.

"Yeah," he said.

Szayel turned Nnoitra's head so they were face to face. His fingers slipped into the taller man's hair, massaging his scalp.

"Hey… it isn't so hard. The first time is the worst. It gets easier from there. The mind is very good at adapting. And you can adapt. That's why soldiers go through basic training. It's a form of conditioning- the undoing of everything society has taught you from childhood if you will."

Nnoitra pushed him away and took a step back, shaking his head. He was eyeing Szayel with a wary look on his face.

"I fucking know what basic training does. Psych major here, remember? You don't need to explain it to me."

"Well then," Szayel began again, "You know that-"

"No. I don't want to have this conversation right now. Just stop, Szay. We'll talk about it later."

Nnoitra glanced towards the kitchen, where Hiroko was still working. His lips thinned. After another tense moment, Szayel stepped back towards the register stool and sat down.

"Alright. We can discuss this later. But we _will _have this conversation."

Nnoitra scowled but nodded, then went to grab the broom and do a little sweeping before the shop opened. Szayel couldn't help but notice that the floors were already spotless.

From the kitchen, Szayel heard the familiar strains of Christmas music. Hiroko had switched the radio back on. The scientist slumped in his seat and rubbed his forehead. He bore with it for a few more minutes before he finally got up and marched towards the door.

"I'll call you later. I really must get away from this infernal music before it sticks with me for the rest of the day."

"Mmhm."

Nnoitra waved him out, making a futile effort to look a little less disturbed. He really was a terrible actor.

-.-.-.-.-.-

"Hello?" A stifled yawn followed the young woman's greeting as she answered.

"I was informed that you wanted to get in contact with me, Ms. Takeda?"

"Szayel? Is that- it is you, isn't it? Why are you using a proxy? And damn it, didn't I tell you to call me Fuyumi?"

"Ah, I had a meeting yesterday. I must have neglected to remove it. My apologies."

Szayel promptly disabled the program that displayed him as a black silhouette. Fuyumi stared back at him, eyes finding his now that they were visible. The young woman looked a little disheveled and not nearly as put together as the other two occasions he'd seen her on. He didn't blame her. It was 6:30 am. She was still in her sleepwear (a silk camisole and pajama bottoms). He, by contrast, was fully dressed and immaculate.

It took her all of five seconds to shake off her morning stupor and launch into a full-fledged tirade.

"You! You condescending piece of shit! Bet you thought it was so fucking amusing to string me along, didn't you? Hey, I've got a brilliant idea! This girl really looks up to the Inventor! Let me just play the part of all knowing cryptic smug bastard and _fucking laugh privately to myself while I get her to piss away an afternoon philosophizing about my father._ Haha, this'll be soooo much fun, especially when she realizes who it was she's been talking to _all this time._ Oh, and better yet, let's break the news to her by sending her a fucking check in the mail for _twenty grand._ Like, fucking hell, what the fuck was that? Twenty thousand USD? I only owe ten grand! And I've been paying it off myself! If you've got the money to bandy around, why don't you just fucking pay off Nobu's debt? He needs it more than I do!"

She was trembling all over when she finally collapsed onto something- possibly a chair or her bed.

Well. That was… intense. He waited a moment before replying. Best to give her a little breathing room.

"Take it from me when I say that Nobu's situation is a little more complex than that, however, the thought has crossed my mind. Yes, I was amused to find myself face to face with a fan, and some of my questions were a bit disingenuous, but I enjoyed our conversation. It made me think. And I especially enjoyed the one we moved indoors. It's been a while since I've had the pleasure of meeting a bright young person such as yourself. I'm generally inclined to take a rather poor view on the majority of mankind."

"Why pay my debt? Why the extra ten thousand?" She glanced up at him, calculating. Good reaction. She didn't take things for granted. She assumed motivations- a very healthy assumption to hold. Well, perhaps not to his degree. His was full blown paranoia.

"Think of it as a scholarship if you like, an investment in the future. Isn't that the sort of thing the Inventor would do?"

"And I suppose you're going to ask me to join Phoenix Corp so you can make a profit off that 'investment.'"

"There are jobs available if you would like one, however, I do believe I could hook you up with whatever company you prefer. You're currently working a low level laboratory position, are you not? Considerably better than minimum wage, but a fraction of what you could be earning."

"… I don't need your help, Szayel Aporro Granz. I've earned all that I have on my own, and I don't need a leg up. I don't need your money and I don't need your connections. I've got this," she replied, looking utterly determined.

He offered her a languorous smile.

"My dear, in academia and research, you don't get _anywhere_ without connections. You just get used. If you thought grad school was cutthroat, I'm afraid you've got a lot to learn, and I would hate for that brilliance and ambition to be wasted when you're so clearly driven to improve the world. After all, that's what I'm supposed to support. Bright young minds that might one day make a difference."

"Oh, bullshit Szayel. The Inventor-"

"Had a leg up as well. An initial investment that made it possible to get his company competitive within a year of his starting it. Oh to be sure, he was self-made, but he had prior connections that allowed him to rise to prominence so quickly."

"I don't-"

"And that attitude won't help you. You've made it through so far on pure talent and drive, and probably a little on looks- no don't glare at me Fuyumi, appearance makes a difference –but this isn't something you can do on your own. I've leveled the field for you. Ten thousand to pay off your debt, ten thousand to spend however you see fit. Money is leverage- use it well. And I'd give you more if you'd let me, but it's clear your pride won't allow me to."

Having successfully shut her up for a moment, Szayel favored her with a smirk. He saw the young woman's eyebrows slant down into a fierce glower. She looked capable of murder, an expression he found more than a little agreeable on her.

"So, when you get tired of subtle workplace sexism, having your research stolen, and watching as another name is pasted over your work, you know who to call. It'll be a legacy you share with intelligent women and laboratory assistants throughout human history."

"Just… fuck you," she said, but some of the passion was ebbing from her voice. Her eyes were narrowed and fixed on some distant patch of space, and her fingertips drummed against her leg. Quick-tempered though she was and still somewhat naïve in her youth, she wasn't a fool. She listened to reason, however reluctantly. And Szayel knew she'd come around eventually. His arguments were too cogent for her not to. So he waited. Let some of his words sink in, as they were already doing. Let her come to the obvious conclusions.

"Ok," she finally said, sitting back, "Let me get one thing straight. You're offering me all these things without the expectation of repayment of _any_ sort?"

"Oh, I wouldn't put it quite like that," Szayel replied.

"Ha. I knew it." A cynical smile curved her lips.

"Oh, it's nothing sinister, I assure you. It's just that once you do make it, you'll become another one of my connections. Another point of leverage in the world, you see? I don't make them just sitting idly."

"I don't know. That sounds pretty sinister to me."

"You will always owe someone something, Fuyumi. All you can do is try to control whom that debt ends up with. You could do worse than me, and I don't think you could do much better."

"Hnn…." She worried her bottom lip as she mulled the idea over. Still, the tense set of her body betrayed her wariness. She was still on some level fundamentally mistrustful of him, and while it was an admirable trait to have, it was rather interfering with his plans.

He'd try a different tactic.

"Why are you so suspicious of me and yet so willing to put blind faith in a man you never met? The last time we spoke, you told me that whatever the Inventor did to climb to power, he nonetheless did good. He changed the world for the better, regardless of his initial motivations. I know him better than you, Fuyumi. I know him better than anyone. I know exactly why he did the things he did and how he managed the things he managed. And I can tell you beyond a shadow of doubt that he was not a good man. It was a mystique he cultivated for the sake of building a brand."

Fuyumi threw a pillow at where, presumably, his hologram would have been standing in her field of vision.

"Just cram it, Granz. I get it. You knew your father and he was oh so bad and you're just laughing at how good he had the rest of us taken for a ride. Well, I don't want to hear it. It's in the past. It's not relevant any more. He's dead and gone, but that doesn't make you any less skeevy. Come talk to me when you've accomplished half of what he did."

The scientist smiled.

He pulled up a chair.

Sat down.

Laced his fingers and crossed his legs.

And tilted his head.

"Who says he died? Aside from the media of course, but you can't trust the media. They're so easy to manipulate."

Fuyumi stared.

He smiled a little wider, encouraging the cogs he saw turning behind her eyes.

"Think about it. No one ever saw his face. No one really knows what he looks like, except perhaps his early associates, but he was careful to never be photographed."

"You aren't really… you aren't _really_ claiming to be the Inventor, are you?" she asked with a touch of horror, "But you don't- you can't be older than thirty five!"

"I did say I'm much older than I look," he replied with satisfaction as he watched her squirm. "It just so happens that life and death aren't nearly as polar as we're led to believe. I figured out the secret to immortality a long time ago."

"Oh my god…"

"Of course, I don't believe the human race will ever be ready for that kind of knowledge, so I keep it under wraps. I live for my research. What would others live for? What would you do with your life if death was no longer a barrier and you had all the time in the world?"

"Oh my god…" Fuyumi repeated.

… He understood that it was quite the revelation, but Szayel had been hoping for something a _bit_ more substantial than that. Ah well. She was only human and couldn't really be expected to react sensibly.

"B-but… oh my god, you're dating my brother. And you were like my childhood superhero except you were dead for a few years by the time I knew who you were so you were even more mysterious and cool and oh my god I called you a boytoy and we had coffee together last week and I totally fangirled about you to your face and do you know how embarrassing this is? _You're_ the Inventor and I'm just a complete _moron_ and- augh!"

Her words, which were steadily degenerating into an incoherent slur, suddenly cut off with a frustrated exclamation. Her hands flitted about, obscuring her face somewhat, though he could see that her cheeks were dark with a mortified flush. It was curious to note that she wasn't so much distressed by the fact that she was talking to an immortal and all the implications that followed. No, she was fixed on the fact that he was the Inventor himself, not his son. Humans really were the strangest of creatures.

The call terminated abruptly, and she disappeared from his view.

-.-.-.-.-.-

He didn't hear back from Fuyumi for the rest of the day. Szayel figured she needed some time to absorb it all. Though she wore her emotions on her sleeve, she was still an excellent critical thinker when the universe wasn't cruelly tearing down the carefully cultivated image of her lifelong inspiration. She'd get back to him with questions once she was in a calmer state of mind and had a chance to think things through.

After a scheduled business meeting at 8 am, Szayel spent a leisurely day tending to his various experiments and drawing up a plan to train Nnoitra. He gave the man a call around 6 pm, when he knew he'd be off work. Sure enough, Nnoitra connected almost immediately.

"Hey pink freak."

"Hello Nnoitra. If you're done closing shop, I'd like you to come over."

"Oh? What for?"

"Nothing you'd like. Don't look so excited."

"Oh. Well, uh, I'm not exactly sure _how_ to get to yer place."

"I'm sending one of my Fracción to pick you up."

"When?"

"As soon as convenient for you."

In other words, as soon as Szayel ended this call. Nnoitra rolled his eyes.

"Right. Let me just tell Hiroko. What are we doin'?"

"I'll see you shortly then. And you'll see."

Szayel disconnected and called for his Fracción. He tasked one of the two to go retrieve Nnoitra while he set up what they'd need to conduct Nnoitra's training. It wasn't very labor intensive. In fact, they'd be conducting it in his living room to make the affair a little less formal.

When Nnoitra arrived some twenty minutes later, Szayel was reclining on the couch. The man sauntered over and flopped down next to him with a soft grunt. After tilting his head back and stretching out a bit (the man really was capable of the most impressive sprawls), Nnoitra finally glanced down at the item in his lap.

" 'zat what I think it is?"

"Possibly."

"Never would've pegged you as the type."

"I would think you'd be used to this by now, Nnoitra."

"True."

Nnoitra stopped slouching long enough to sit up and reach for the video game visor. He turned it over in his hands a few times, sliding a thumb over the smooth plastic.

"You're not being very subtle about this you know," he said.

Szayel tilted his head and smiled.

"I wasn't trying to be. I am, however, trying to make this more enjoyable for you."

"Right. Well, if you're going to brainwash me, you have to play too," Nnoitra said.

"I anticipated that demand, and as you can see, I am prepared to participate in this otherwise pointless activity." The scientist picked up the visor at his side and waved it.

There was a pause as Nnoitra sized him up. Then he smirked and put on the visor.

"Alright. What are we playing?"

"Something gratuitously violent. It doesn't hit the market for another week."

"Aw shit, if it's the one with-"

"It is."

"You've got a real twisted sense of humor, Szay."

"Again, one would think you'd be used to this by now." The scientist stood and walked across the room to retrieve a pair of game packages from where they lay on his desk. He tossed one to Nnoitra, who caught it and appraised the cover art.

"Mobsters," he said before opening it and picking out the slender game chip.

"It seemed fitting," Szayel replied as he inserted his game chip into his visor. The visor screen flashed in front of his eyes, waiting for him to enter the confirmation code on the package and his Comchip ID to synch the game up. Within seconds, the world around him seemed to disappear. The immersion was flawless.

Szayel's Comchip pinged, alerting him to a player request to join sessions.

"Have you even played video games before?" Nnoitra asked. Even sitting next to him, his voice sounded distant. But as soon as Szayel accepted the request, it came in clearly. Nnoitra materialized next to him soon after, dressed in a two piece tailored black suit and a fedora. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail. "What?" he said as Szayel looked him over critically.

"Going for the classic Hollywood Italian Mafia look, are we?"

"Well, why not? They gave the option."

"Yes but, it's just going to get so filthy…"

"They're virtual clothes, Szay. The blood will literally disappear on its own time. Geez, you really haven't played video games."

"Of course I have, Nnoitra. I helped develop some of these games. I've test run a few features personally."

"Right right. Ok. But you've never properly played one, have ya? You know? For the sake of playing one?"

"No. I wouldn't waste my time on such a trivial pursuit."

"S'what I thought," Nnoitra said, lips quirking. "Fuckin' relax and just play. Don't worry about mid battle costume changes or whatever. Game mechanics are magical like that."

"No. What's magical is having the ability to patch in cheat codes at will," Szayel replied. Fornicaras materialized in his hand. He strapped her to his back, then spun around and cocked a hip at Nnoitra.

"Seriously? _Seriously?_"

"I said I'd play, not that I'd play fair. Besides, we're trying for realism here."

"So you're going to run around hacking people to pieces with a sword."

"… semi-realism," the scientist conceded.

"C'mon, use a fucking gun like the rest of us pathetic mortals."

"But you see, I'm not a pathetic mortal. I'm an immortal. And a genius. I don't have to play by your game mechanics when I can rewrite them as I desire."

"Asshole," said Nnoitra as he clicked the safety off his gun.

"Believe me," Szayel said as he set off, "I can teach you to do so much more than fiddle with that little toy you call a weapon." As a sort of afterthought, he changed his outfit to match Nnoitra's thematically, though he ditched the suit jacket for a fitted pinstriped vest over a white dress shirt and added a purple silk tie to the ensemble.

Nnoitra drifted slightly behind him, a lanky limbed shadow.

"Ya know, you're the one who's gonna get yer clothes filthy," the human observed.

"Well, it's a good thing the blood will 'disappear on its own time' then," Szayel replied.

And that was that. The scientist resigned himself to a session of predictable intrigue and wanton homicide while his partner steeled himself for a session peppered with snide quips. Both prepared in their individual ways, they approached the first quest checkpoint.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Subsequent hours found them both covered in blood and skulking in an alley. Szayel's zanpakuto hung loose in his hand as he leaned back against the side of a building. Crimson streaked his face and hands. He looked a right mess with his clothes stained and disheveled, but at least none of it was his own, which was better than Nnoitra could say. The taller man was nursing a wound to the collar that had come dangerously close to hitting his throat. He gave a pained grunt as he applied pressure to the shot and waited for it to stop bleeding.

"Ok. Gotta hand it to the game engineers for really upping the realism level in this one, but can we take it down a setting maybe? You know. To a level where getting shot doesn't hurt?"

"Really Nnoitra, this is nothing. It's no worse than a bee sting, and the pain goes away quickly, unlike it would in real life."

"Yeah well it still fucking sucks to get shot."

"Yes, it does 'suck' getting shot. Do you know what 'sucks' more than getting shot? Dying. So treat this as motivation to avoid dying."

"Easy for you to say, bullets don't even touch you. Can ya at least get rid of yer… what d'you call it… Hierro? Your gigai doesn't have it. It's no fair you get it here. And Sonido. That too."

"Oh you're such a spoilsport Nnoi. But fine. I _suppose_ I will_ graciously _disable my Hierro and Sonido."

It was simple enough to turn off the codes that granted him superhuman speed and immunity to bullets. He swept Nnoitra a theatrical bow once he'd finished making himself less invulnerable.

"There. As fragile as a human."

Nnoitra snorted.

"Except for your inhuman reflexes and endurance and ability to shoot energy balls at will."

"My reflexes come without the aid of computer coding. I think and react to things faster on my feet than the vast majority of sentient beings. My endurance is hard earned, I'll have you know. As for Bala and Cero… well, just consider yourself fortunate that I'm not using my released state."

A small shudder passed through the human.

"Once is more'n enough for me."

"Do you really find it so odious?" Szayel asked.

"Nah… not odious. Just … different. You're so different. So…" He struggled to find the right words, then trailed off, looking troubled.

"Does it frighten you?"

Nnoitra laughed. Sharp. More of a bark than a proper chuckle. His eyes slid away from Szayel's as he replied.

"Yeah. A bit, yeah."

Szayel stepped away from the wall and slid his free arm around the man's shoulders. His hand curled in the hairs at the nape of Nnoitra's neck as he pulled him down into a slow kiss.

"You're not supposed to be frightened," Szayel murmured when he broke away.

"Hnn?"

"It is meant to give me the appearance of fragility. It's a form meant to entice would be predators. Of course, the function is now moot since I am not a Hollow, but that was its original purpose. Among Hollow forms, it's not particularly fearsome looking."

"Why? Like, why attract Hollows? What if you attracted something dangerous? Wouldn't that be counterproductive?"

Szayel turned away. He cleaned his sword off on one of the few clean patches of his outfit and slid it back into its sheath.

"You remember how I told you once that my Hollow beast was something difficult to kill?"

"Yeah. You never specified what it was."

"That's because I'm a bit sensitive about it. Raw power is valued most among my kind. My situation would have been further exacerbated if I'd advertised just what I am. I'm a parasite, Nnoitra. Most of my abilities center on controlling my enemies or using their abilities against themselves. You recall the incident at the hot springs?"

Nnoitra nodded, looking guarded.

"I kissed Namikawa in order to transfer some of my cheek cells into his body. Doing so allowed me to take control of his nervous system and turn him into a living puppet. And before you ask, yes, you are consuming some of my cells every time we kiss. No, I have no plans to control you using them. Yes, they metabolize and exit your system after a period of time and do not remain in your body permanently."

"Not helping the whole fear thing."

"Well, that bit isn't supposed to make you feel comfortable. You can see why I'm not exactly forthcoming with my abilities. I am no less proud of them, but they are … a little distressing to most people."

"Most."

"Yes, most."

"Pff, I'd like to meet the person who _doesn't_ find you disturbing."

Szayel's mouth twisted into a cynical smile.

"I can assure you, you really wouldn't," he replied. "There is, after all, a reason why he doesn't."

Nnoitra just watched him for a moment before shuddering again and stepping away from the wall. He rubbed his shoulder, which had begun to heal over during the interim.

"Ugh, you Arrancar are so fuckin' creepy."

"He's not an Arrancar."

"Oh?"

Szayel pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and ducked out of the alley. The blood stains were already fading from his virtual clothes. It was time to get going again.

"Remind me to tell you about him some other day. Right now, we have people to murder."

"You know, for someone so disdainful of video games you're awfully enthusiastic about this," Nnoitra remarked.

"We are conducting a training session. One does not have the luxury of long breaks while training."

"Right. Whatever you say, Szay."

Szayel flashed him a superior smirk in reply and sprinted ahead.

In retrospect, he would concede that there was something to be said for these human video games, but it would take the likes of Aizen to pry it from him.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Meetings, meetings and more meetings. December was one of the busiest months of the year for him, just another factor contributing to his general distaste for the holidays. Every minute wasted on his panel of corporate sycophants was another minute he could have allocated to a more interesting or constructive endeavor. In past years, he'd resented them for how they interfered with his experiments. This year, he found them even more onerous. His visits to the bakery were sparser and shorter lived. There was some meeting or another that he had to attend at least every other day, and usually more often than that.

He'd put his foot down on Saturday though. Saturday was non-negotiable. Meetings could always be rescheduled. Outings? Well, Nnoitra's schedule was even less flexible than his own (and how he dealt with ordinary people for hours every day without wanting to commit a violent crime, Szayel would never understand).

So it was that he found himself strolling through downtown Karakura late Saturday morning. The sky was clear, the sun distant and pale and crystalline. The temperature hovered just barely above freezing. Szayel was dressed for the weather in warm boots, a formfitting insulated jacket with a high collar, and matching cashmere gloves and a scarf. His color scheme, for once, was understated. It hearkened back to his years in Las Noches; black and white, with only the pink accent of his hair and the amber glimmer of his eyes to break the monochrome palate.

The rest of the world wasn't nearly as antiseptic, intruding on the pristine chill with its riot of color and noise and humanity. Szayel maintained his bubble of personal space to the best of his ability, and by virtue of their stature, passersby gave them room, though not nearly enough. In the back of his mind, he wished them all away that he might have this time to himself and Nnoitra. But that would defeat the purpose of this outing, he supposed.

Szayel brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes and exhaled. A cloud of white steam issued from his lips, which were already beginning to chap in the cold air.

"So, are we having fun yet?" he asked.

"Have I ever mentioned how charming your sarcasm is?" Nnoitra replied.

"No. You could stand to mention it more often."

"As if your ego needs any more inflatin'."

"No, but you're the one trying to change my mind about this."

Szayel gestured around them, nearly clipping another pedestrian by mistake.

"Well, said Nnoitra, "You sure as hell don't make it easy for me."

"Not my responsibility."

"There's a lot to appreciate you know, if you'd just-"

"Look around. I know. I have been."

"No. If you'd just stop holding everything to such a high standard."

"And why should I stop doing that, Nnoitra?"

" 'Cause most things aren't up to your standards, and I think you'll find that you're missing out on a lot because of it."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Nnoitra said, steering him towards one of the many nearby food carts, "That even pink haired freaks like you need to get off their high horses sometimes and mingle with us commoners. Take for instance this food cart."

"What about it?" He could see something steaming in pots from where they stood in line. It smelled sweet, spicy. Apples and cinnamon and clove perfumed the air.

"They're here every December, and even though I could easily make myself something at the café, I always buy here."

"Why?"

Nnoitra shrugged.

"Tastes better. And it's a tradition, you know?"

"You never really struck me as the traditional type."

The line slogged, and by the time they reached the cart, he was grateful for the hot cup of cider that one of the women ladled out for him. The fragrant steam curled around his nose, and the warm orange color of the drink was enticing, but he wouldn't chance a taste just yet. He'd only end up scalding his tongue.

"So, what do you want for Christmas?" Nnoitra asked, breaking the silence. Szayel glanced over at him, assessing his expression. He didn't appear to be joking. Szayel arched an eyebrow.

"Really Nnoitra? A Christmas gift?"

"Well why not?" he replied, hunching his shoulders a little. Szayel imagined he would have stuffed his hands in his pockets if he hadn't been holding a cup of cider.

"You know how I feel about the holiday. And besides. Let's be practical now. There isn't anything you could conceivably get me that I couldn't already purchase myself."

"Wow, you really haven't ever celebrated. Figures."

"It is a family oriented holiday, Nnoitra, and I do not have a family. I do not have friends. I do not even have Christianity to justify some vestigial religious function. I do not have a _need_ to celebrate Christmas."

"Yeah, ok. You've made your point."

"Have I?"

"Yes. Fuck. I get it. You're solitary and you don't give a damn."

That… wasn't entirely true, but it wasn't false either. It was accurate enough that he couldn't really refute it. And to be honest, he didn't want to. There was nothing wrong with being solitary. Isolation gave him time to think, time to conceive and devise and conduct his myriad experiments. It was a fierce sort of independence that drove him. But Nnoitra was unhappy again, an occurrence that was becoming more and more frequent, and this didn't sit right with him either.

"Companionship can be a pleasant diversion from seclusion," he remarked at length.

"Lately you've been acting like it's a chore," Nnoitra replied.

Szayel frowned.

"No. I make time to visit you just the same as always. If I did not wish to do so, you would know about it. On the contrary, I would posit that your behavior has undergone some subtle shifts lately. You seem more prone to brooding."

"Right, let's turn this into a psychoanalysis session on me. Wha'dya want me to say, doc? Gee, I've got a boyfriend who rebuffs my every effort to have one normal outing or conversation that _stays_ normal and doesn't degenerate into _this_."

Normalcy. If that was what Nnoitra actually wanted, he wasn't going to find it with him. He wasn't going to find it anywhere, not in his current situation. Irritation flared in him momentarily before he smothered it beneath a layer of dispassion. When he spoke, it was with a clinical objectivity.

"I would ask you why you elect to remain with such an individual if you feel that you are incompatible on a very fundamental level. Without sustained, meaningful interaction of a reciprocal nature, your relationship is doomed to fail."

"Oh hell, I don't want to have this conversation right now."

"That is precisely why we're having this conversation."

"No we're not! _Especially_ not if you're gonna be all detached about it. Fuck that bullshit."

"Then engage me in a manner in which we can have a conversation that doesn't come to verbal blows."

"You don't think I try? I'm tired, Szay. I'm tired of trying. I'm tired of being the one to put in all the effort."

"You're not the only one putting in an effort, Nnoitra."

"Oh really? Doesn't feel like it. Feels like I'm always the one taking the initiative."

"Ha." Szayel stopped walking. The pedestrian collective eddied around him briefly, the flow of human bodies disrupted. Nnoitra stopped too, a few paces away. No one came between them. They commanded their own island of space. Just as well. Right then, he needed it.

"Ignoring the fact that your 'feeling' is patently wrong, let's go with that line of thought for a moment. You believe I'm not putting enough into this relationship. So, supposing that your claim is a valid one, would you have me make more decisions about how we spend our time together? Do you want me to be more assertive? I can do that. I don't think you'd like it, but I can do that. Or maybe we can both be honest about what the real problems are and get those details out of the way."

"You're always making those little passive aggressive threats. 'You wouldn't like me if I did this.' 'You wouldn't like me if I acted as myself.' You want me to be honest? Alright. I'll be honest. I don't want to hear them. How many times do I gotta say I get it? I get it. We're not on the same level. So fuckin' drop it already."

Szayel felt another flare of annoyance kindle in the pit of his stomach, but this time he allowed it to burn. The silence curdled between them, leaving a bitter aftertaste on his tongue. Nnoitra stared him down resolutely at first, nostrils flaring and knuckles flexing, but as the seconds ticked by, his shoulders shifted forward again. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Szayel held up a hand to silence him.

"You are correct. This is not a conversation we should be having right now. This is not the place for it."

Nnoitra closed his mouth. Then opened it again. Compressing his lips to a line, he finally turned around and started walking again.

"Ok. Good."

Curt and unapologetic, but it would have to do. Making concessions wasn't exactly something he enjoyed. It came easier for his human companion, but Szayel had just antagonized him to the point where he'd snapped. And if he'd allowed him to, Nnoitra would have apologized. It was a victory. It just didn't feel like one. But that was something to file away for later. At the moment, he still had the rest of the afternoon to spend having fun.

The whole notion gave him the stirrings of a tension headache. He massaged his temple one handed and took a tentative sip of cider, which had cooled to a bearable temperature by this point. Szayel slowed, eyes widening with unanticipated pleasure. The spiced drink was like a shot of sunlight down his throat. He didn't chill easily, but the temperature contrast between the surrounding air and the warmth now spreading through his body gave him a little jolt. Lengthening his stride, he caught up with Nnoitra, who'd continued without him.

"The cider is good," he remarked, drawing even with the taller man. He took a longer pull of the drink, relishing the taste this time. It was every bit as flavorful as it smelled. Nnoitra favored him with a skeptical look at first, but his eyes soon drifted to the untouched cup he still carried.

"Yeah." Nnoitra raised it and tipped it back. When he exhaled, the water vapor seemed whiter, and some of the tension between them seemed to have lessened. "Yeah, it is."

"So," Szayel said, once it felt appropriate to broach, "What would _you_ like for Christmas, Nnoitra?"

He expected a quick response. Perhaps annoyance with his hypocrisy, perhaps some lewd comment meant to bait him. But Nnoitra took his time in replying.

"I think I would like to actually have a Christmas," he finally said. At Szayel's look, he shrugged and elaborated. "When you're involved with Yakuza, they become yer family. But still, s'not the same. Couldn't drag my folks or Yumi into that business though. Was best I didn't cross those spheres. But Fuyumi is persistent. She don't give up easy, that kid. What a pain."

Nnoitra took another swig of cider, grimacing. "Damn it's cold out. Anyways, I been outa contact so long, it gets harder to go back every year. But this year… I think I might."

"I don't think Fuyumi intended to let you skip."

"She talks big, but this ain't th' first time she's tried. I can be pretty stubborn."

"So why this year?"

"Well for one I'm pretty sure you've got my back if shit goes down. But- ok no, that's actually the main fuckin' reason. Because I can be pretty sure no one's gonna get shot if I drop by for Christmas."

He'd suspected as much, but it couldn't have been easy for the man to admit. Szayel chose to ignore the way Nnoitra's voice cracked on the word shot. His irreverent tone was otherwise flawless. Well. This human concept of family seemed very inconvenient. Caring about so many individuals… a recipe for disaster if he'd ever seen one.

"I should have been more specific with my question and asked what material gift you desire for Christmas," Szayel remarked with a wry twist of his lips. "But yes, I can ensure that no one will 'get shot' at your family's festivities."

"So you'll be coming?"

Ah… his presence at the dinner was implicated by that promise. But sitting down with Nnoitra's family? It felt so... human.

"If Fuyumi will have me."

"She will if she wants me there."

Of course.

"Then I would be delighted."

"Liar."

"Mm."

"I'm gonna hold you to that promise though. No backing out."

"Cross my frigid heart and hope to double die. _Yes_, Nnoitra. I will be there. Now. Think of a gift I can box up and physically hand you."

"Only if you do."

Szayel suppressed a groan, casting his eyes around the square for a distraction. Towering in the center was the Christmas tree, resplendent with lights and tinsel and colorful ornamental trappings. But it wasn't the flashiest thing by far. Merchants broadcast advertisements to everyone in the vicinity. Holographic images cavorted in the periphery of his vision as his ComChip registered the signal codes and spun them into reality before his eyes. Many of the ads were of his design, or at least products of his corporation. ComChip spectrum in this part of the city at this time of year was a valuable commodity. Only the wealthiest vendors could afford extensive time slots.

Of course, that didn't prevent opportunists from running short demos. Twenty minutes here or there, just enough to pique the interest of shoppers. Their unpredictability lent them a sort of underground appeal, which the clever merchant exploited. Such a brief format often resulted in edgier adverts to grab customer attention. They had become a form of seasonal entertainment unto themselves.

The one that had caught his eye, however, was in a league of its own. The style was actually quite spare. It didn't need to drum up attention for what it sold- the product itself was startling enough.

"You want to buy me something? Buy me admission to one of those sessions," Szayel said, pointing it out. Nnoitra glanced over. Szayel watched several expressions play out across his face- surprise, disgust, and finally resignation.

"Of course that's what you'd want. Stickin' hooks in your flesh would be just your thing."

"But doesn't it look interesting? The model seems very serene, and the weight distribution would have to be just perfect to prevent his skin from ripping. I find that artistic precision appealing."

"Looks like torture to me."

"Ah, but what is art without suffering? This just takes it to a more literal level."

They both gazed upon the holographic man, suspended in the air by ropes attached to a series of hooks in his flesh. As a tongue in cheek nod to the holiday season, he hung vertically with both arms out to the side, as though crucified. His expression was not one of pain, however. If anything, he looked almost euphoric.

"Yes, that will be your gift to me, if you still want to give it," Szayel said, a wicked smile turning his lips. When Nnoitra didn't immediately reply, he gave his shoulder a fond squeeze, then maneuvered the man away from the demo. "Come. We're still having fun. What other seasonal traditions do you practice?"

* * *

**A/N:** It's been two years since I've updated this story. But here we are. I'm tired of excuses, and I'm sure you are too, so there will be none.

Thank you to Xylexia and Ryoko, who've both supported me when I hated my writing the most and inspired me to continue writing. There's a learning curve, and we can't all be perfect off the bat, so we must learn to appreciate the ways we improve instead of dwelling on past flaws.

If any of you are still reading, thanks for holding on. A two year wait isn't pleasant. While I won't make any promises about when the next chapter will go up because I've made too many promises I haven't followed through on in the past, I've sat down and outlined it to make sure another two years won't pass before you get the next one.

On a less serious note, good luck to those of you participating in NaNoWriMo this month. Go forth and fight for that wordcount!


	18. Cyclical

A staccato burst of gunfire sounded, and pain blossomed in his right shoulder. He covered the wound with his left hand, firing several Bala at his attackers with the right. Even without examining his injury, he could tell that it had the potential to be lethal. His collarbone and scapula were shattered- moving his right arm was a feat of willpower -and he was losing blood at a rate he didn't like. But no major arteries had been severed. He'd walked away from worse.

His attackers were less fortunate. Caught by the energy balls, they were blown apart in a gruesome shower of pulverized flesh. Gore spattered the area, glistening darkly under the streetlights for half a minute before it began to fade. Szayel felt his injuries begin to recede as well, going from jagged lances of pain to a dull throb. Running a bloody hand through his hair, Szayel sagged against the side of a building and let out the tense breath he'd been holding.

"Really Nnoitra, I'd prefer not to take bullets for you if I can help it."

"Didn't ask you to. Besides, you handled things pretty well it looks like."

"The idea is for you to learn how to handle things yourself."

Nnoitra shrugged and clicked open his gun to replace the bullets. He had a natural aptitude for handling weapons. If they were playing just for the entertainment value, Szayel suspected he'd be a relentless killer. As it was, he hesitated to pull the trigger at times. He balked at the motivations behind their gaming sessions.

Szayel knew how to break people. He knew how to make them pliant, how to bend them to his will. But his usual methods were not appropriate for this situation.

The slow progress was endlessly frustrating.

"What are you going to do when you have to pick up a real gun and shoot it, Nnoitra?"

"I'll figure it out."

"Will you? You have the technique. Do you have the resolve?"

"Can it, Szay. I'm sorry ya got shot on my account again. We about done here?"

"Yes," Szayel said, disconnecting. Nnoitra pulled off his visor a few heartbeats later, casting him a weary look.

"I didn't mean done with gaming."

"Well_ I_ am done. I've had all I can take of video games today."

"No need to have a snit about it."

"I am not. Having. A _snit_."

"Yeah, you are," Nnoitra said, taking his visor from him. Szayel bristled a little, then forced himself to push down the simmering vexation he felt. He was only proving Nnoitra's point.

"You aren't making this easy. I'm trying to teach you how to defend yourself adequately."

"No, you're trying to teach me how to kill people."

"It's part and parcel. Sometimes you have to kill people in the name of self-defense. You do not have the luxury to hesitate when your enemies would put a bullet through your brain without batting an eyelash."

"I know. Ok? I know," Nnoitra replied sourly, slumping against the back of the couch.

"Then show me you're taking this seriously. Stop giving me lip and pull the damn trigger every time without fail. They're not even real people."

"I know."

Szayel leaned back and removed his glasses, rubbing circulation back into the places where they pinched the bridge of his nose. The visor was a little awkward to wear with them, but habit made him loathe to take them off for long stretches of time.

"What can I do to make this easier? Please, enlighten me."

Nnoitra grunted and stood, stretching out.

"Probably nothing."

"I could implant artificial muscle memory in you. I could rewire your brain."

"Don't," Nnoitra said, a warning growl in his voice.

"Then cooperate with me."

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"No. I don't want to do it, Szayel."

He stood with his arms crossed, staring him down through narrowed eyes. A sharp hiss of displeasure escaped Szayel's lips at this deliberate refusal.

"Fine," the Arrancar snapped, "Die prematurely. Perhaps you'll gain an appreciation for what it takes to survive as you linger over your own corpse."

"I don't want to be a killer," Nnoitra insisted, though he sounded a little less certain after Szayel's outburst. Szayel slipped his glasses back on and favored him with a cynical smile.

"How appropriate. How delightful that you of all people refuse to kill when in your previous life, you literally lived for brutality. Well done. You're truly making amends for your karmic debt."

Nnoitra glowered, hands falling to his sides and balling into fists. If he weren't such a pacifist, he might have been intimidating. But it was all bluster. He had all the threat of an overgrown puppy. Szayel stared up at him, unimpressed and eyes cold.

"Don't compare us," Nnoitra bit out. He seemed to hum with tension, every muscle in his body taut. Szayel noted a small spike in his spiritual energy with interest. Leaning forward, he continued inciting him.

"Why not? It's my right. You really are the inverse of each other in so many ways. You had the strongest Hierro of all of us. You killed your own comrades for the sole purpose of proving your strength. You pursued what you wanted with unparalleled savagery and persistence. If anyone stood in your way, you killed them. You were the Quinta Espada, the embodiment of despair."

Nnoitra shut down. If not for the pulse of his spiritual energy, he might have seemed calm. The air roiled around him while gazed at him blankly. Szayel's breath caught a little at his fury. He'd pushed him too far this time, but it was a compelling reaction. There was so much latent power in his body for a human. If he could only teach him to channel it… but not today. He had damage to repair first.

"I'm sorry. That was cruel," he said, adopting the most sincere, apologetic expression he could muster. Nnoitra's eyes flickered, dubious. Szayel dropped his head and shoulders a little, making himself smaller, a bit more vulnerable. Nnoitra finally took the bait, lips curling back as he laid into him.

"The words you want are 'fucked up as hell'. Don't you ever fucking do that again."

"It was completely out of line."

"Damn right it was completely out of line! I swear to god, Szayel…"

Szayel watched him breathe, chest rising and falling rapidly as he fought to come down from his adrenaline high. The air around him lightened as his spiritual energy subsided to more normal levels, though it still pulsed with his lingering agitation. Gauging the moment to be right, he rose and stepped toward him, placing a hand on his shoulder. When Nnoitra didn't shrug it off, he draped his arm lightly around him and leaned in.

"I let my temper get the best of me," he murmured into his shoulder, "I know you don't like when I bring up the past."

Nnoitra groaned.

"It's more than that, Szay. It's not me. They're not my experiences. But you talk about them like they are. Like they should mean something to me. Like the fact that some past version of me was a ruthless monster should have some bearing on who I am now. Well it doesn't. I'm just a dumbfuck human who made some bad decisions and got in way over his head."

He felt a momentary pang of guilt for manipulating him. Nnoitra was so honest in his emotions. But dropping the con halfway through was terribly unprofessional, and besides, it was for Nnoitra's own good. He reached up, tugging off the elastic that held Nnoitra's hair back and running his fingers through the silky cascade.

"I am aware. It is… difficult sometimes to separate past from present completely. But I know you are a different person. That is precisely why I worry about you."

Nnoitra wrapped his arms around him, giving him a tentative squeeze.

"It really isn't fair."

"Mm?"

A sigh ruffled Szayel's hair.

"You have such an advantage. You can do anything you want."

"It is a hard won position of privilege."

"I don't doubt it, but I'm still a lil' envious. Killin's not something you have to do, if you don't want to. You've got that kind of power."

"I had to learn how to kill before I could choose not to."

Nnoitra made a disgruntled sound and slowly extricated himself from Szayel, though he pulled him down onto the couch with him.

"I don't want it to become something easy. Taking a life shouldn't be easy."

"If you dwell on it, it will damage you psychologically."

"If I don't, I'll feel like I'm losing some part of my humanity."

Szayel snorted.

"Violence is a human trait as surely as altruism is. Much of history is marked by terrible conflict."

"Mmm."

"I'd rather you not become a casualty to that human proclivity."

"Mmm."

"Is that all you have to say?"

They exchanged a look. Nnoitra seemed drained. Relenting, Szayel pushed him to recline. He looked like he could benefit from being horizontal for a bit. Nnoitra let him maneuver him down, then tugged him on top. There was still tension between them, but some of it eased as Nnoitra slid his hands up and down Szayel's spine and their body heat mingled.

"Can we just chill for a bit?" Nnoitra asked after a moment. Szayel considered his request, then shrugged lightly and closed his eyes, assenting. They'd been at odds so much lately, it was nice to just relax and set aside his various agendas temporarily.

Of course, it was especially nice to take that break on top of Nnoitra. The other man was being very undemanding for once, no doubt worn down from their fight, but the hands that had come to rest on his lower back gradually began to wander after a time. Nnoitra shifted beneath him a bit. Accustomed to his physicality by now, Szayel let him stir, remaining obstinately still. It was only when Nnoitra rolled his hips suggestively that he bothered to open his eyes.

"Pants are staying on, Nnoi," he said. The other man huffed his disappointment.

"Sure I can't change your mind?"

"Yes. You are, however, welcome to get creative."

"Creative?" He sounded intrigued.

"As long as the pants stay on."

He rolled his hips again, creating a delicious friction between them.

"That I can do," he said. His hands skimmed under Szayel's shirt, hiking it up so his skin was exposed to the cooler room air. The temperature contrast sent gooseflesh prickling over his skin.

Oh, Nnoitra really was so good at this. Too good. He almost regretted his stipulation as Nnoitra pulled him into a kiss that left him more than a little breathless. A trail of nibbles down his neck, and Szayel questioned whether he preferred the man's mouth on his or being put to use elsewhere. And of course, those damn hands of his were preternatural in their ability to find the little spots that went straight to his groin.

His shirt went quickly, and when Nnoitra sat up to remove his, Szayel helped him out of it. Nnoitra grinned, pulling him close so Szayel was straddling his lap. He nipped his mouth playfully, then bounced him a bit so they ground against each other. Szayel's gut fluttered with pleasure, and he pressed a little closer, wrapping his legs around his hips. Their skin clung, damp with a light sheen of perspiration.

"Last call for pants, pink freak," Nnoitra rumbled. He captured his mouth for a moment, then pulled away with a lascivious smirk to let him answer. His thumbs were hooked in the waistband of his pants, tugging suggestively. Szayel exhaled unevenly, _very_ much considering the offer. There was so much unresolved sexual tension between them, and after all the recent arguments, it would probably be a pretty fantastic release of energy. But… not today. Even if it sounded good.

"Pants on," Szayel confirmed, then arched against him and kissed him back. Nnoitra groaned into his mouth. "No fair," he muttered with feeling when they broke apart again. He pushed Szayel down, putting his teeth and tongue to work on his chest while Szayel shifted under him in pleasure. When his movements became too much, he pinned Szayel's hips with his.

"You're a fuckin' tease, you know?" he murmured into Szayel's ear. His breath feathered across his skin in the most pleasant of ways. "Pink haired cockblock is what you are." He punctuated his words with an aggressive nip to his earlobe and a pelvic thrust that had him mirroring the motion to relieve his growing need for friction. It was entirely undignified how easily Nnoitra could make him fall apart. This loss of control was something that needed rectifying, but of course, experience was the only cure. He both resented and relished the learning curve.

"You're always mouthing off. Not so wordy now, huh? Mostly moans. Though I've heard you noisier." Nnoitra grabbed his crotch and gave it a squeeze. A little gasp broke from Szayel's lips in reply. "Had you crying my name last time. I could make you do it again." Of that, Szayel had no doubt. But it was a matter of pride at this point. Nnoitra was pushing him for reactions. He didn't feel like making it easy for him. Even if staying quiet was nearly impossible. Szayel bit his lower lip, drawing a few drops of blood as he resisted. There was a perverse pleasure in it. It drove Nnoitra crazy too, he could see it in his face.

Then Nnoitra growled, and his teeth closed over Szayel's throat with a light but firm pressure. Szayel's mouth formed a little _oh_ at the position he found himself in. His body tensed, both thrilled and set on edge by the predatory move. When Nnoitra let go, a little shudder ran through him. The other man noticed.

"For all you like yer control, you sure seem to get off on vulnerability."

"Shut up," Szayel rasped. He wiggled free, then reversed their positions, pushing Nnoitra backwards. He fell with an ungainly thump, limbs akimbo. The couch really wasn't large enough to accommodate their activities well.

Nnoitra reached up and grabbed a fistful of his hair, pulling his head back.

"You don't get to call th' shots, sweetheart," he said with a mocking lilt, "Not til you've been around the block a bit."

Szayel's scalp ached, though it was a pleasant pain. He dugs his nails into Nnoitra's skin in reply, not quite breaking it, but coming close. Nnoitra returned the favor with his free hand, drawing a few, ragged lines down his side. He felt his pulse throb with the sting, hissed when Nnoitra's mouth closed over his collar to leave another mark. This was so different from the last time- careless, aggressive, colored by frustration. He loved it. It felt right.

More than right. It felt… familiar. He realized with a flash of inspiration that he'd been in similar positions before, scrapping as a Hollow in the desert of Hueco Mundo. The surge of adrenaline as teeth and claws hooked into his flesh, bodies thrashing as he and his attacker fought for dominance. A ploy, as he infiltrated their neural circuitry, then took them apart piece by piece while they shuddered under him, completely aware and completely helpless. He'd abandoned this tactic when he'd evolved beyond the need. It was animalistic, messy, not fitting with his aesthetics. But there was a sort of sensuality in the violence that resonated with him now. It was a different kind of hunger from the empty cravings that had driven him as a Hollow, but it echoed that desire.

He didn't have long to ponder this revelation, as Nnoitra drew his attention back to the present. He was unfairly skilled at teasing out his erogenous zones and exploiting them. Much as Szayel wanted to challenge him, Nnoitra definitely had the upper hand. He'd strategize later, when his head wasn't so muddled with a feverish heat. Giving in at last, he let Nnoitra handle him as he wished. He felt his grip change, from domineering to possessive. Victory. Some of the aggression gave way to a rough sort of affection as he kissed him again and continued to kiss him until both their mouths were swollen. They moved against each other with little regard for dignity until the tension finally had Szayel shaking. Nnoitra took the opportunity to unbutton Szayel's pants and slip a hand down the front. With a few jerks, he brought him over, then while the scientist curved into him, moaning incoherently, he finished himself. Nnoitra grunted, hips twitching, and wrapped an arm around Szayel as they both rode out the aftershocks.

"Pants stayed on," he said when Szayel finally stirred and arched an eyebrow at him.

It was technically true, though they hung a little low on his ass since they'd been unbuttoned. He'd have to take them off soon anyways so he could shower. The thought seemed to occur to Nnoitra as well. He tugged on them.

"They should come off now though."

"I'll remove them after you leave."

"Yer not gonna make me go home like this, are ya?"

"You may use the shower. My Fracción will launder your clothes."

"You need to shower too. You should join me."

"That would be inadvisable."

"Fine. But we should visit another hotspring soon. This time without mobsters."

"Perhaps." Szayel extracted himself from Nnoitra and tugged his pants up, grimacing at the way things _squished_. "Do me a favor and hurry up, this was a terrible idea."

"Liar. You enjoyed it," Nnoitra said, sitting up. He wasn't modest about dropping his pants when he stood. Szayel directed him to the shower before he stripped his underwear off in the middle of his living room. Then he summoned Verona to see to his clothes. The Fracción had the sense not to smirk as he collected the dirty garments and bore them away.

Well, that had gone fantastically. The practicality of Nnoitra's training still needed addressing, as did the possibility of experimenting with potentially latent spiritual powers, but all in good time. And, he mused as he stretched out on the couch to wait for Nnoitra to finish his shower, perhaps he could make this sort of thing work for him rather than against him.

-.-.-.-.-.-

"Mrs. Hiroko, if I could steal you when you have an open half hour?" Szayel inquired during a momentary lull in business.

Hiroko shot him a calculating look. He offered her a soothing smile and selected a bittersweet chocolate pot de crème to go with his cup of chai. The woman grunted and went to prep his order.

"Would this meeting be of a casual or confidential nature?" she asked as she brewed his tea.

"Confidential."

"Mm. Meet me upstairs after work. But a half hour is all, Granz. I have business to handle after work."

"Thank you."

He retreated to a relatively quiet corner with his purchases. Closing was still hours away. He did not plan on haunting the shop the entire time, but he did not feel like going home just yet. After he finished off the pot de crème, he wandered out of the shop with his chai.

It wasn't often that he walked Karakura by himself without a reason, though it was becoming a more frequent occurrence. Curiosity perhaps, for what he had built. Boredom, more likely. In the distant past, he would take jaunts through Hueco Mundo to clear his head between experiments. The cold, endless desert had a sobering effect on him. It was a reminder of where he'd come from, and how much progress he'd made. But it also reinforced his sense of superiority. That _he_ had, among tens of thousands of other souls, risen to such a position of prominence and power. That his potential was limited only by his own ambition and mind.

Karakura wasn't quite the same. While he'd orchestrated its metropolitan rise, there was still something unsatisfying about it. It wasn't wholly his. A center of spiritual activity, there was a large contingent of Shinigami established in the city to counter the increased Hollow activity. And while they were quite ignorant about his existence, their presence was occasionally stifling to him. Karakura was a victory as far as he was concerned, but having to constantly evade detection took away from some of the gratification. Some days, it bordered on resentment. Still, he felt himself drawn to the pulsing heart of the city.

Well, the calm core of it anyhow. True to his aesthetic sensibilities, Szayel had encouraged the creation of parks throughout the urban landscape. Some were miniscule, mere pockets of greenery tucked away between buildings. This one was fairly large and central, with several groves of maturing Japanese maples. Their variegated foliage was stunning for most of the year, but winter had stripped them of their leaves. Equally barren were the sakura trees, which flowered so beautifully in the early spring but were mere wooden spectres in late December. Still, people walked the open trails and sat on the benches and frosted grass. Szayel found an empty spot and settled in. By this point, his chai was closer to lukewarm than hot, but it gave him something to do with his hands while he sat. The methodical process of raising and lowering the cup lulled him into a meditative state.

Rest was something he was unaccustomed to. It wasn't as pressing a physical need for him as it seemed to be for humans, and psychologically, he was at his best when he had something to work on. But even he had to make concessions for his physiology. These quiet, introspective moments served as grounding points, bringing him down from the highs of his accelerated mind so he wouldn't burn himself out. Especially when he inhabited his gigai for extended periods; his human body could not endure the same kind of abuse he habitually put himself through without a second thought.

It was becoming more frequent though. The more time he spent around Nnoitra and Hiroko, the more he was forced to take breaks. Mortality was such a weary experience. As well as he'd made his gigai, it was still imperfect, and he felt the flaws acutely. He was weaker, his senses duller, his reflexes slower. His muscles tired more quickly. Aches came easier and faded gradually. He even fancied that he could feel himself dying in that gradual way of all living things if he meditated on it long enough. It was disturbing and a little invigorating, a sort of jolt that woke him from his complacency and motivated him to do something, _anything_ to satisfy that false biological clock.

Feeling suddenly antsy, he stood and paced down the trail, crumpling his empty chai container and disposing of it in the nearest receptacle. Going home still sounded unappealing, but he could not stand the thought of staying in his gigai a moment longer. At least in his suite, he could shuck off his human trappings. One call later, and one of his Fracción were on their way to pick him up. He fidgeted all the way home until the moment he was able to shed his gigai and escape into his lab. For a moment, he just luxuriated in the way it felt to flex his spiritual pressure. Then he set a timer and immersed himself in one of his neglected projects, pulling up the blueprints from their file and smoothing them out on a counter top. A machine designed to concentrate ambient spiritual energy into a more potent liquid form. It was a personal project, which was why it had been relegated to a back burner like so many others.

What a joyless realization, that in the pursuit of power, he was losing sight of his raison d'être. The science was becoming secondary.

He worked compulsively until the timer rung, barely audible in his state of concentration.

-.-.-.-.-.-

"So what's this all about, Granz?" Hiroko asked as she put her feet up and reclined in her reading chair. Szayel made do with the edge of her bed rather than stand or sit on the floor.

"This is about Nobu," he replied. She grunted.

"'Course it's about Nobu. What do you want?"

"I want to know what it would take to remove him from your gang."

Hiroko's expression sharpened.

"You know, people don't generally leave the yakuza," she replied.

"I'm aware. But you happen to be the ultimate arbiter in this situation, Mrs. Hiroko, and I thought we might discuss possibilities."

"Friendly possibilities, or threats Mr. Granz?"

"Nothing so hostile."

Hiroko leaned forward, eyes shrewd. Plainly, she doubted him.

"Here's the situation. The other gangs have been fairly quiet since the last stunt you pulled, but they're getting uppity again. There've been some nasty fights've broken out in the last month. The holiday season is prime time. So far, they've mostly left us alone, but they'll push us again, test our limits. That's the way of organized crime. There's no end to it. And there's no out.

Then there's you. Takeda struck gold with you. You're wealthy, you're influential, and for whatever reason I don't particularly care to know, you're a talented killer. You rightly put the fear of god in them- I wouldn't want you as an enemy. I wouldn't want anyone allied with you as an enemy. Takeda is my underling. By virtue of your protecting him, you shield us all. You can see why I'm reluctant to give that advantage up."

It was logical. Hiroko had a syndicate to run. Szayel's presence made it run smoother. She'd be a fool to give up that bargaining piece. Still, it was an obstacle.

"I thank you for your honesty. It is refreshing. However, your reluctance does pose a problem for me."

"I'm sure it does."

"You enabled him into this, exploited his debt to draw him into your gang. And now you would sacrifice him?"

"I made him an offer. He accepted it. He knows the terms."

"Coercion is still coercion, however you frame it."

"My motivations were not so cruel."

"No," he said, feigning thoughtfulness, "They were nostalgic, weren't they?"

When she did not immediately respond, he smiled.

"Your late husband. You hired him in the first place because he reminded you of him. Is it like having a son, having Nobu around? You never had children, did you?"

"That is not your concern."

"It is entirely my concern due to Nobu's involvement. But perhaps I'm wrong. It does seem terribly ruthless to put him on the line given your feelings. Then again, you didn't get where you are by being soft. How unfortunate for Nobu that one of those moments of weakness resulted in his employ."

"I do care for him, Granz," she interjected coldly, "But I have an entire family to protect. I can't make exceptions for one individual."

"Did you ever plan on letting him go? After he paid his debt? Or was his future always tied to a well-placed bullet?"

"That's a risk we all take. But…" She hesitated. "I tried to keep him as uninvolved with the violence as I could. I don't wish death for him. I don't wish death for any of my underlings. But it is a business."

"Of course."

"You want to take him out of it? His face is known. He's marked. He'd have to leave Karakura."

"You underestimate me."

"Hn. You're right. If anyone could manage to clean him up, it's you. You're a scammer yourself, but your image is pristine."

"So, could something be arranged Mrs. Hiroko? Or must I take matters into my own hands? It has become clear to me during the course of our training that Nobu is simply not suited for the work. I cannot allow him to continue on this path."

She leaned back, shaking her head.

"I'd make things worse for myself refusing you. So. Let's talk compensation. You've got tech I could really use. How might that find its way to my hands discretely?"

"That depends."

"On?"

"How… opposed would you feel to working for me? Occasionally. Mercenary work."

She raised an eyebrow at him. He shrugged.

"My tech is very valuable. I prefer to leave it in capable hands. Hands that have a record of carrying out my orders faithfully."

"And would I have the agency to turn down your requests?" she inquired dryly.

"Of course. I have other contacts. But that wouldn't be very profitable."

"Hmm. You seem like you play a dangerous game, Mr. Granz."

"No more so than you. It's a good deal for you. Unless your muscle is just that- brute force and no delicacy."

"My crew is clever."

"For their sakes, I hope so Mrs. Hiroko. Because if they should botch a job, they'll take the fall, and I will ensure that my name goes unmentioned."

"I'm a professional," she replied tersely, earning a chuckle from Szayel.

"Yes, that is why I like you, Hiroko. I would hate to see you become a casualty. Really, I would."

"Save your sincerity for someone less jaded," she said. Her fingers rapped against the arm chest as she mulled his offer over, then she nodded sharply and stood. "I'll be in contact with you regarding the specifics, but it sounds workable."

"Excellent."

"And Szayel."

"Yes?"

"Since when are we on informal terms?"

"A slip of the tongue, Mrs. Hiroko."

"Out of my bedroom. You've left me with more business than usual to discuss."

"I look forward to your correspondence," he remarked mildly as she ushered him downstairs and out of the shop.

"You'll hear from me soon enough, Granz," the curmudgeonly woman replied, then closed the door behind him.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Things were gradually coming together. But as Szayel disconnected from his latest call, he couldn't help but feel that certain details were still slipping through the cracks. It was the tension, he decided as he skimmed his personal directory for the next number he needed to contact- the final number, if everything went as it should. All this month, there'd been a perceptible buildup of stress. Tempers flared, nerves were short. Damn the holidays.

But… it may have been more. A general sense of unease had overtaken him, and he couldn't seem to shake it. His disdain for the season aside, there was a growing feeling of misanthropy- stronger than usual –that had lodged itself in his chest. Which was why he found himself in his current position- making calls to distant banks, redistributing sums of money and gold to his most trusted of financial institutions. Switzerland was home to some of the best vaults in the world, but he knew of other places, some even more discrete due to their lack of notoriety. Diversity was the best precaution.

Which begged the question, precaution to what? As his line connected, Szayel pushed the thought to the back of his mind and focused on the task at hand.

"Yes, I would like to create a new account with you. Existing access number 8592001357. Codeword ananta."

"Ah, Mr. Octavius. Always a pleasure. Your account request is being processed and you will be supplied with an access number shortly. What specifications do you desire?"

"A subsidiary account and vault under my name. Access to be granted to one Nobu Takeda, codeword set to… quinta."

He relayed the spelling carefully. When the request cleared, he transferred a significant sum to the new account. While it still barely put a dent in his funds, it wasn't a laughable number. That, in addition to the gold, was enough for anyone to retire on comfortably.

"Thank you for your patronage. A letter will be sent within two to three business days to the provided address with the account details and vault key," the teller said as he concluded the transaction. Szayel disconnected with relief, weary of conducting business. And it wasn't yet midday. But this was his gift to Nnoitra. Stability. If all else went awry, money was usually a pretty powerful bargaining point. As for when he planned to make Nnoitra aware of the account…

Lumina popped in with a pitcher of chilled mint tea. How well his Fracción knew him. Relaxing on the couch, he took a brief reprieve.

"Lumina," he murmured as the female ducked away, "Cancel my noon meeting. I've had my fill of negotiating with humans for the day."

"Yes Szayel Aporro-sama," she replied brightly, then skipped out of the room. He watched her leave, wondering how she filled her time when she wasn't running errands for him or doing his secretarial work with Verona. What did either of them do? It was a strange thought, but stranger still that he wondered about them at all. Szayel frowned.

No. Dwelling on this mood would do no good. Better that he moved on and distracted himself with experiments in his lab. Right after he finished his tea.

-.-.-.-.-.-

His ears chimed with the telltale ring of an incoming call. Checking the number, he connected promptly.

"I expected you to call sooner," he remarked as Fuyumi materialized.

"I was considering whether to ask you to meet me somewhere or do this over a call," she replied, "A call seemed best if I wanted to walk out of the conversation at any point."

"A little edgy, are we?"

"Around you? I think it's warranted."

"You would be correct. But your prior spunk was such fun."

"More like humiliating. Look, Granz-"

"Szayel."

"Szayel, I'm really not sure how to feel about you."

"That's a very natural reaction."

"I have so many questions."

"Then ask. I've been waiting to hear them."

"I… mm…" She grimaced and swayed a little. "I honestly don't know where to begin."

"Begin anywhere, my dear. I'd recommend starting with whatever has been bothering you the most."

"Is there anything off limits?"

"I will let you know if you ask something I don't feel like answering. However, you should keep in mind that all knowledge comes with a price and you may not like everything you find out."

She picked something up, a notepad it looked like. The back of it faced him, so he could not see what was written in it, but as her eyes skimmed the first page, he suspected it was a list of questions. Observations, perhaps. No doubt she'd be adding to them. She sat down.

"Ok. So, you said you were immortal. What kind of immortality are we talking here?"

"I can be killed, though it is extremely difficult. I'm immune to all known illnesses. I do not age."

"How is that possible?"

"Trade secret."

"And how do I know you aren't lying?"

"I suppose you can't really. Though you could ask your brother. He would vouch for me."

"Nobu knows but you won't tell me?"

"You are a scientist, Fuyumi. Nobu can't exactly do much with the information I share with him."

"What if I got it out of him?"

Szayel smirked.

"He knows better than to tell."

"We're siblings."

"Ah, but how much of his life has he shared with you recently?" At her silence, he inclined his head. "Rest assured, it's a secret you don't want to know. It comes at a great cost. And you may well discover it on your own someday."

She took in his enigmatic expression, then thinned her lips in disgust and turned back to her notepad, scribbling a few lines down.

"How old are you?"

"So direct. I'll give you the same answer I gave Nobu- I've been around for about two centuries, give or take a few decades."

Her eyes snapped up to his, narrowing.

"Now I know you're fucking with me. That's not possible. Technology was so primitive at the time."

"Yes, it certainly was, wasn't it? But when you take into consideration that I revolutionized a lot of modern technology, it becomes a little less improbable, doesn't it? The world exists in its current form thanks to my contributions. I am called the Inventor for a reason."

"You realize what a leap of faith you're asking me to take."

"Whether you believe me or not is your choice entirely, Fuyumi. Skepticism is healthy. But for what it's worth, I am not lying to you."

She worried her bottom lip and scribbled something else down, though it seemed less purposeful than before. Her body was an exhibit in consternation, all tense angles and nervous motions. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear as she looked up again, pale hand lingering by her cheek.

"What drives you, Szayel? Going along with the notion that you really are immortal. You've made it clear you don't think of yourself as a good person. You're the furthest thing from a humanitarian. Any charitable acts you've engaged in were calculated to build your company's image. And as a result, you're probably the wealthiest person in the world. You have money, you have fame, you have power. You even have eternal life and health. But what are you doing with it all? What do you plan to do with it?"

"That," he remarked at length, "Is a very complicated question."

Fuyumi smiled at last, a wry little thing that barely curved her lips before they straightened out again.

"You hold the world in your hands, Szayel Aporro Granz. Of course I want to know what you'll do with it."

"Anything I want."

"And that is?"

"I told you before, though you might have been a bit too… preoccupied to recall. I choose to spend my eternity researching. What else is there? Knowledge is the highest pursuit. Everything else is transient."

She shivered a little at his reply.

"You're so… detached. I don't know how you do it. Science is an inherently neutral discipline, but research is not. It's driven by passion. It's biased by our experiences. Scientists look at the world around them and see a problem, or a question. A scientist's entire life can be consumed by a single question. Researching for the sake of researching? Without any inherent emotional investment in what you're researching? That's so abstract."

"Is it so wrong?"

"No. I just… I don't understand. That seems like such an empty existence. Science is collaborative. The lone geniuses of history often lived sad, solitary lives. Some went mad. Losing that personal connection, that ability to relate your research back to something greater than yourself? I can't imagine that."

"I've been called mad in my time," he said, somewhat tickled by the unintentional reference to his old epithet.

"Yes, well, your thought process is certainly unorthodox."

"An understatement, if I've ever heard one."

"Ugh, if this is what immortality does to your personality, I don't think I want to figure out the secret."

He laughed, amused by her discomfort. It was such a shift from their previous conversation. Incense, adulation, and now this.

"Is it difficult? Having your idol reduced to someone like me?"

She inhaled sharply and looked away.

"That's the trouble with heroes, Fuyumi. They're never the person you want them to be."

"At the moment, I'm trying to figure out if you're awful or not. I'm leaning towards awful by the way," she replied.

"I'm a rather abrasive person. And you, like your brother, are an idealist."

"That's just it though. That's the thing that doesn't make sense. Why are you dating him?"

Her eyes found his and held them, and it was Szayel who felt uncomfortable this time. It was a deceptively simple question, one most people should have been able to answer quickly. But the answer stuck in the back of his throat. He cleared it, self-conscious of the seconds slipping by while his quick wit failed him.

"He reminded me of someone I knew," Szayel finally replied.

"And?"

"And… I came to care for him."

"Why?"

"Because I did," he said, voice clipped.

"Why?"

"If I had a rational explanation for it, I would have voiced it already," Szayel snapped. Fuyumi tilted her chin up, looking smug.

"There it is. The incongruity. It's been bothering me, how charming and personable you were during our first real conversation. I mean, I know you were trying to put on a good face, but the fact you needed to impress me at all? Because you wanted Nobu to be happy? It doesn't match up with everything else you've been telling me about yourself. You're not quite as detached as you make yourself out to be."

"And what conclusions would you draw from this revelation?" Szayel inquired dryly.

"Well… I'm not sure. I told you, I'm not sure how to feel about you."

"How do you want to feel about me?"

"I want… to like you," she confessed, "I want you to be someone I can like."

"Yes, that would be ideal, wouldn't it?"

"There you go again," she sighed, "A pricklier man I've never met. I kind of miss when you were trying to win me over. That was a fun conversation. You were so easy to talk to."

"I enjoyed the conversation myself. My reactions were for the most part genuine."

"But I'm so beneath you intellectually. How were you not faking interest?"

"Everyone is, my dear. But you show much promise for your age, and I can acknowledge that."

"You really know how to make a girl feel young," she said, wrinkling her nose.

"Emotional intelligence is something I never bothered to cultivate," was his pert reply, "But I am learning."

"That's generally something you're born with. Boy, Nobu really does know how to pick them. Do me a favor, Szayel? Don't hurt him. Whatever kind of person you might be, don't hurt him."

"It is not my intention to."

"That's not good enough. You're a contradiction, Szayel. I think you've been alive so long, you've started losing touch with your humanity. Or maybe you've never been neurotypical, and the preexisting disconnect has been exacerbated by time. But against all odds, you seem to genuinely value the relationship you have with my brother, and the idiot seems to feel similarly towards you. You have the capacity to really fuck him up, do you understand? Do not fuck him up."

Her words struck him strangely. She ascribed him humanity. Well, of course she did, she didn't know otherwise. But other implications curdled unpleasantly in his stomach.

"If you can promise me that… I can live with all the other things. I think I could like you."

She waited for his answer with the same intensity she'd displayed their first meeting. And he recalled how she'd broken down in tears so quickly over Nnoitra the second time he'd ever seen her. Compared to him, she was a tempest of emotion. Logic and passion in equal measure. What a striking combination… but it meant he couldn't give her a disingenuous reply.

"I will try not to."

She exhaled lightly, then nodded.

"Ok. You're invited to Christmas. Don't cause a stir."

"I'll be on my best behavior."

"You'd better. No antagonizing my parents. Follow the house rules. Help out when you're asked."

"I am capable of being civil, Fuyumi."

"Right, even the great Inventor can fake humility when he has to."

"Ah, I've turned you into a cynic so quickly."

"The alternative is tripping over my tongue around you, and the last thing I want to do is look like a moron again."

"It wasn't so bad. It was flattering."

"It was the furthest thing from flattering," she said with a little scowl. And, ah, there it was again. A splash of color brightening her cheeks, though indignation was the agent this time.

"Careful, Fuyumi," he warned, "Someone's going to realize how attractive you are when you're flustered someday, and then you'll never hear the end of it."

He was gratified to see her cheeks darken further as she rose to his bait. It was so easy to play her.

"Go to hell," she snapped. And to her credit, she didn't immediately disconnect, trying, no doubt, to rein in her emotions and prove him wrong.

"In good time. I will see you on Christmas."

"If I don't rescind your invitation."

"I look forward to talking again soon. Always an interesting experience."

"You're on thin ice, Szayel."

"It is delightful to know I've found my way back into your good graces."

"You're a grade A asshole!"

"Yes, but I also happen to be the most powerful man in the world. So let's tone down the verbal abuse a tad, shall we?" he remarked. His sudden coolness startled her out of her snit.

"Ah…" she fumbled. Then, just as abruptly, a smile slid back onto his face.

"I jest, my dear. We're on a first name basis, aren't we?"

"Ugh, you two really deserve each other."

"Goodbye, Fuyumi. I promise I'll behave myself for your family's celebration."

"Right," she grumbled, but just before they disconnected, she relented a fraction. As usual, her sincerity was a little disarming. "Bye Szayel. I'll see you in a few days."

-.-.-.-.-.-

He looked up at the dark gray front rolling in and wrapped his scarf a little tighter around his nose. Next to him, Nnoitra evaluated the horizon as well.

"Maybe we shoulda done something indoors today," he conceded.

"I did warn you the weather would not be favorable today," Szayel reminded him as they started walking again.

"Thought we could beat the snow and warm up indoors by the time it hit," the taller man said with a shrug. "Besides, Christmas is the day after tomorrow. Might as well enjoy the decorations while they're still up."

"Ah, my torment is nearly at an end. That is something to celebrate."

"Oh shut up."

"Mm… how about no."

Nnoitra's arms snaked around his shoulders and pulled him snug against his chest.

"How about I make you?" he rumbled pleasantly. Szayel tipped his head back to look up at him.

"Thought we were enjoying the outdoors," he said, then flashed him a flippant grin. Nnoitra spun him around and kissed him, silencing his impertinent commentary. Seconds stretched before they untangled a little breathlessly. Szayel could feel the eyes of passersby linger on his back, silently condemning their public display of affection. A peck would have been more socially appropriate, but while they froze in their boots, Szayel was warm from head to toe. Still, it wasn't really the place.

"I'll treat you to lunch. Where would you like to go?"

"Soup sounds real good. Wanna do a hot pot?"

"Are you familiar with any good establishments?"

"Good is subjective. You want pricey good or cheap good?"

"Pick a place you know won't serve mediocre food."

"Well then, right this way."

Nnoitra shepherded him towards the restaurant district. Gauging from the rate the clouds were moving, the first snowfall would overtake them by the time they reached the place. He would have to call in a ride home to avoid walking through the storm. Nnoitra seemed to have come to the same conclusion.

"Hey, can I hitch a ride home with ya? I'll even play a few rounds of murder games if you insist."

"You really must work on your transparency, Nnoitra."

"So is that a yes or a no?"

"That is a yes to the ride, a no to couch activities."

"But I said I'd play murder games with you."

"Which you'd conveniently find a way out of, don't you deny it."

Nnoitra didn't. Instead, he sulked, stuffing his hands in his pockets and striding ahead. Great big lanky man, and he was pitching a fit like any child. Rolling his eyes, Szayel caught up with him.

"Don't even make sense," he said when Szayel matched his stride, "You take to it so naturally, what's the hold up?"

"Well," Szayel replied with a sardonic lilt, "If you'll recall…"

The words died on his tongue as he caught sight of a familiar face in the crowd. His vision sharpened, all his concentration fixed on the figure. His mind whirred, almost blank from all the thoughts he processed in that moment. Then he felt Nnoitra shaking him, and his attention snapped away from the person and back to Nnoitra, but only for a moment. Inexorably, his eyes were drawn back to them.

"Szayel. Szayel, what the hell? You look like you've seen a ghost."

The air left his lungs at that, and he barked out a breathless laugh. How appropriate. A ghost. Truly, his past was coming back to haunt him in this city.

Nnoitra finally managed to follow his gaze to the object of his distress, and a low, wondering swear escaped him.

"Damn… he looks a lot like you."

When Szayel had nothing to say to this, he gave the scientist another little shake. Szayel seemed to have become unglued. Almost unconsciously, he took a few steps towards the blonde doppelganger, who was steadily gaining distance, unaware of the tumult his presence had inspired. Alarmed by this atypical behavior, Nnoitra gripped Szayel's shoulder hard forced him to turn away from the other man.

Szayel's lips pulled back in a snarl, and he ripped Nnoitra's hand from his shoulder. But he stopped when Nnoitra's shocked expression registered. Suddenly aware of his actions, he froze, privately horrified by his complete loss of control. Then he turned on his heel, his hands finding his hair and tangling in the neat, pink mass as he pulled at it from the roots and locked his jaw. Nnoitra hovered behind, uncertain how to handle him. Szayel was grateful for the space, though simultaneously bitterly resentful that he was privy to this breakdown. When at last he'd managed to find his breath, he dropped his hands and turned around again. Little strands of pink caught between his fingers where he'd ripped them from his scalp. But the worst ache was in his throat, a great big knotted ball of emotion he refused to voice. Not after everything else.

"You sane now?" Nnoitra asked.

He giggled. Not a convincing reply. His nerves were still too raw, and there was a disconnect between his brain and his tongue. Szayel gave it another minute before he opened his mouth again.

"I… will be."

Nnoitra's shoulders slumped, then stiffened again as he reeled off the words he'd held back until that moment.

"Who the fuck was he? You just went blank. Completely checked out. You wouldn't answer me at all. And then you bared your teeth at me like a fucking animal when I tried to stop you from going after him. What the hell was up with that?"

Szayel swayed on the balls of his feet, biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself grounded. When he tasted blood, he switched to the other cheek, taking more care this time not to pierce the skin.

"It's a mockery," he murmured, "A cosmic joke. This city is laughing at me, Nnoitra."

"Fuck, you're still crazy," Nnoitra said, looking resigned. Szayel shook his head.

"No, listen. You were right. I saw a ghost. It's my curse as a survivor. Everything's cyclical. Everything cycles back, birth, death, rebirth."

"Are you even hearing yourself right now?"

"Nnoitra, shut up," Szayel said. The taller man obliged instantly, unnerved by the dangerous edge in his voice. Though he still seemed a bit unhinged, there was a cold clarity in his eyes that belied his unstable appearance. When he was certain he had Nnoitra's complete attention, Szayel continued.

"We were twins, which is why he resembles me. Yylfordt Granz. My brother."

"I… shit, Szay."

"I believe I've mentioned him a few times. We weren't close. It is hard to be close to anyone as a Hollow. He was weak. Much weaker than me. And in his weakness, he sacrificed any chance at greatness he had and pledged himself to another to ensure his survival. The Sexta Espada Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez took him as a Fracción along with his crew of miscreants. His death was stupid and accomplished nothing."

His reply did nothing to justify his reaction, and he knew it. Nnoitra knew it. But bless his heart, he wasn't about to ask. Not when Szayel was in such a precarious mood. The thought cheered him a little, in a perverse sort of way. He continued despite his better judgment.

"But he was still mine, you understand? My twin. Grimmjow couldn't give a damn whether he lived or died. Weak though he was, worthless though he was, Yylfordt was never his to claim. I preserved his body. I was going to bring him back to life, but it turns out overconfidence is a trait we both share. A Shinigami scientist, Kurotsuchi Mayuri, outfoxed me in battle and killed me. I managed to recreate myself in another body and escape while he ransacked my laboratory. But he took all my specimens, including Yylfordt's body. The fact that he is now here in Karakura means that he was purified. Mayuri gleaned whatever data from him he wanted, then his soul was set free to reincarnate."

Nnoitra looked very uneasy. Well, he'd never really been comfortable with this type of conversation. But he was having it, whether Nnoitra liked it or not. Feeling considerably calmer, he looped an arm through Nnoitra's and tugged him towards the restaurant district. He felt a spot of cold kiss his cheek as they walked- the first snowflake.

"I feel like the walking dead, Nnoitra. Well, I am. But I feel it so keenly now. Everyone is gone. It was genocide, a mass cleansing to destroy any organizational ability we had left after they took out Aizen and the Espada. And it was justified, because we were the monsters. We were humanity's hatred and despair embodied, an amalgam of all the victims of your wars and murders and regrets. Savage, bestial, and fit only for extermination. Well, that's what they thought of us anyways. Inferior beings. I suppose they had a point, if it was really so easy to exterminate us. I wonder how many others will find their way to Karakura as humans?"

His monologue was bordering on masochistic now, a blend of honesty and cynicism he didn't fully believe. Shaking his head, Szayel finally dropped the subject. After a minute of silence, he felt Nnoitra begin to relax, though he remained tenser than usual.

The storm caught them full blast just as they entered the restaurant district. Wordlessly, they scrambled for the warmth of the closest establishment, thoughts of hot pot long abandoned.

* * *

**A/N: **Well, I wanted to get this chapter done by the 30th in honor of the mad scramble that is NaNoWriMo, but that just didn't happen. Fortunately, I still hit my target of having it done by early December.

I'd like to give a couple shoutouts to some really awesome guest reviews submitted by Vitalani and Hidden Star. They were so detailed and kind, and I appreciate them from the bottom of my heart. But you should both sign in next time so I can actually reply to you personally.

Shoutout to Ryoko as well for being my eternal NnoiSzay muse. What can I say? You inspire me. And enable me viciously. You need to not do that. I only have so much time to write fanfic.

Final thoughts on the chapter itself? Ehhh… there's a lot I think could be improved about this chapter. There are a lot of cutscenes to imply time passing (a couple weeks from start to finish), but they also make things feel choppier. And then not everything in my head translated well to the page. Ah, the struggle of limited point of view. I'll just have to trust that half of what I wanted to relay came through somehow, because I don't have the patience to work on this chapter any longer. If you notice anything really glaring that could benefit from an edit, feel free to PM me about it.

But enough of my whining. As ever, thanks for taking the time to read! I will see you in the next update.


	19. Eve

Christmas Eve had Nnoitra working. Which was probably just as well. They'd never really recovered from Szayel's scene the day before. After a quiet lunch, they'd parted ways for the rest of the afternoon. And though it left a sour taste on his tongue, Szayel had to admit that he'd needed the time to himself. He still did.

He found himself in the lab again, skimming through old experiment files, pulling up projects he'd set aside, or those he'd never completed due to the invasion. It was suddenly very important to him that he revisit them, though it was a bittersweet experience. Every incomplete file was a reminder of that which had been stolen from him. Countless experiments terminated before their conclusion. Reams of data he would never collect. Prototypes and specimens and innumerable products of his research, all looted. Gone. In the hands of another scientist who would paste his own name over his findings.

The Shinigami had stolen his life, both literally and figuratively, and it had taken eighty years for this fact to finally sink in. It had been so easy to ignore this, elated as he'd been by his own cleverness in escaping and determined to flourish despite the heavy setback. The idea that he could rise just as strong from the ashes of his defeat was a powerful motivator with a great deal of symbolic appeal. And all his precautions had meant that Mayuri had never found his central databank, that he'd retained the most essential parts of his research. But now he mourned the true magnitude of his loss. Everything else seemed so trite in comparison.

More than ever, he could not stand wearing his gigai. The human shell remained empty and lifeless in his closet, carefully positioned by one of his Fracción because he could not bear to even touch it once it was off. From time to time, he slipped into his released state, savoring the way it felt to be so powerful, and savoring the way it felt to be himself. Arrancar; a being so dangerous, his mere existence was cause for extermination. Former Espada; one of the deadliest specimens of his kind. He reveled in his otherness, taking fierce pride in his identity and the perfection of his form. Because if he didn't, who would?

He was alone. He had always been alone, isolated by his own intellect. But this was a different kind of solitude. It was like the Las Noches desert- unfathomably vast. But where he'd felt lost the day before, fury had taken root. It burned in his chest, an acrid fire that consumed his thoughts as wholly as the hunger that had once driven him as a Hollow. And it was in this state that Lumina and Verona found him.

"Szayel Aporro-sama," Lumina began, a tremor in her voice.

"Nnoitra-sama called," Verona finished. The pair stood very straight, hands locked as they confronted their master. If not for the importance of the message, they would have never approached him in this mood.

Szayel glanced up from the file he'd been reading over, a glower replacing his look of concentration. But as the meaning of their words filtered through the haze of irritation he felt at being interrupted, the expression slipped from his face. Though he felt far from composed, he was a practiced hand at faking it.

"What did he say?"

"Hiroko-san gave him early leave from work, on account that it is Christmas Eve."

"And on account that it is traditionally a couple's holiday."

"Nnoitra-sama would like to know if you are busy."

"And if you are not, he has inquired after your company."

"That is all," they finished in unison, still looking rather nervous but not quite as petrified as before. Their message delivered, they bowed their heads respectfully and scampered.

Szayel stared at the file he held, then closed his eyes and let himself slump over the table he was working at. He didn't move for several minutes as he gathered the will to leave his laboratory and rejoin polite society. How could he bring himself to interact with anyone like this? But years of pushing down his own emotions to deal with Aizen and others gave him the strength to detach himself from his current state of mind and box it away for a later psychodrama. By the time he reentered his suite and slipped into his gigai, he almost had himself convinced that just minutes before, he hadn't been completely engrossed in a bitter nostalgia trip. Almost. He couldn't quite shake the anger that still simmered underneath all his forced apathy.

It was still snowing in Karakura. The storm had blown through the city the day before, but gentle flurries continued off and on. Szayel dressed for the weather, though he doubted he would be out in it for very long. It was beautiful, but at this time of year, there was only an hour or two left before dusk.

Nnoitra waited for him inside the bakery. Though it was still open, Hiroko appeared to have enlisted another one of her unattached underlings to help with the register. They greeted each other tentatively, an awkward air of sobriety still hanging between them.

"Couldn't get ahold of you directly. I wasn't sure you'd show," Nnoitra said.

"I was preoccupied," Szayel replied.

Nnoitra glanced over at Hiroko, catching her eye and nodding.

"C'mon. Let's walk," he said, turning back to Szayel. He held the door for him as they left the shop. Once they'd put some distance between them and Hiroko's bakery, Nnoitra rolled his shoulders and seemed to shake off some of the stress that had followed him out of the shop.

"So glad to get out. Every year, I'm in that bakery on Christmas Eve. They'll be celebrating in the back later like they always do."

"You don't want to go back later?"

"No. I need some downtime from mob stuff. Gotta switch mindsets for Christmas this year. That's… gonna be interesting."

"Do you anticipate difficulties?"

"Probably. You don't just show up after a few years of radio silence and not expect to hit some snags."

"Perhaps it would help to sit down and run through potential scenarios? Address the questions before they're asked."

"Been doin' that for weeks, ever since Yumi brought it up."

"But you are still apprehensive."

"How could I not be?"

Nnoitra bent to scoop up a handful of snow, compacting it into a ball. He tossed it halfheartedly at a signpost where it exploded upon contact.

"Anyways, how've you been?"

"I've been better."

Nnoitra bent to shape another clump of snow. He lobbed this one more deliberately as he considered Szayel's reply.

"That bad, huh?" he said as the snowball struck a distant building.

"Don't ask after what you don't want to know," Szayel replied.

"And if I wanna know?"

"Nnoitra…" Szayel gave him a thin look.

"Alright, I don't want to know." He huffed, shaking the snow off his hands and shoving them deep in his pockets to warm them. "So, since you seem pretty handy with food I was thinkin' we could do dinner."

Szayel blinked at the sudden conversational shift.

"I'm not really. I don't find occasion to cook myself food very often."

"Really? You're always working on something at the shop."

"I'm an adept autodidact. I learn quickly. I like to experiment with recipes there. Baking is very precise, so finding creative recipe substitutions that still work is gratifying."

"I'd call that handy with food."

"I've yet to develop a palate for flavor combinations in savory foods. Which is what we'd be making."

"Just follow a recipe like the rest of us mundanes. Or start cooking regular food more often."

"I do not have a kitchen, Nnoitra. I do not usually eat, except to feed my gigai."

"You know, I think the worst part about that is I don't even find it strange. Anyways, dinner. Yes, no?"

Szayel considered the request. It would, of course, happen at Nnoitra's place by necessity. They'd have to go food shopping soon if they were to cook dinner at a reasonable hour. The whole notion of cooking dinner had a rather personal feel to it, perhaps a little stifling after his recent headspace. And he could probably assume he'd spend the night given the nature of the holiday.

"Yes, but I do have one condition," Szayel said.

"Yeah?"

"I do not want to wear my gigai at your apartment."

Nnoitra looked more puzzled than anything else.

"Does it really matter? You pretty much look the same."

"It's not a matter of appearance. It is more comfortable for me to be out of it."

"Sure then? Is that it?"

"That's it."

"Right."

He seemed slightly taken aback by the ease with which he'd gotten his approval, but he quickly recovered. Now that he had confirmation, Nnoitra continued full speed.

"So unless you wanna call up your lackeys we can just jump on the next train and go shopping."

That was honestly the last thing he wanted to do. His Fracción had a healthy amount of fear and respect for him, but they could be rather impertinent as well. His closet was a case in point. The less ammunition he gave them, the better.

"The train will be adequate."

"Better get moving then. It'll be dark soon."

-.-.-.-.-.-

It was long dark by the time they returned. But when the sun set by 4:30 pm, that was to be expected. Nnoitra swore as he juggled grocery bags and fished out his key, eager to get out of the cold. After fumbling with the lock in the bad lighting for a few seconds, he finally managed to get the door open. They both hurried in and closed it quickly behind them. Nnoitra dumped his parcels on the floor, flicked on the lights, and went to turn the thermostat up.

"Think I'll drag the space heater out of the closet too," he said when he returned, stooping to grab the food and relocate it to his tiny kitchen, where Szayel had already placed the remaining purchases and was in the process of unpacking them.

"Where can I leave my gigai?" Szayel asked.

"Uh?"

"You won't want it lying around in plain sight. It does rather resemble a dead body when I'm not inhabiting it."

"Oh. Yeah. I hadn't really thought about that."

"How full is your closet?"

"Pretty full."

"I would recommend temporarily relocating some of its contents then."

"I'll… get on that."

While Nnoitra slunk away to move boxes, Szayel preheated the oven and hunted down a roasting pan for the leg of lamb he'd purchased. Cooking tended to offer more grace than baking, but he'd consulted a recipe book in the store and taken a few mental notes. Now, he prepped his seasonings, juicing the lemons, mincing garlic, and chopping up fresh rosemary sprigs. Nnoitra returned as he was rubbing the lamb with the lemon juice.

"All ready."

"Fantastic. Can you cut up the carrots and potatoes while I finish with this?"

"Yeah."

Szayel patted the garlic and rosemary into the meat until it was evenly covered, then seasoned it with pepper and salt and set it in the pan. Nnoitra tipped the vegetables in a few minutes later while he sanitized his work area and washed up.

"What next?"

"Nothing for a while. Put it in the oven when it's done preheating and set a timer. I need to proof your apartment."

"Proof my- what? What are you doing?"

"You said I could remove my gigai. I'm ensuring you don't draw unwanted attention."

"What do you mean unwanted attention? What are you proofing it against?"

Nnoitra's voice rose in pitch, forcing Szayel to pause and explain himself, though there was a good chance that would cause him further alarm.

"Spiritual beings. Hollows and Shinigami. There are several reasons why I wear my gigai. One of them is to interact with humans. The other is to avoid alerting Shinigami to my existence. I have exceedingly good control over my spiritual energy, but it is an exhausting task to rein it in constantly. My gigai does this for me. Taking it off is like turning on a faucet- the energy spills out again. Brief flares can be chalked up to other Hollow presences, as Karakura is a hotbed of spiritual activity, but a prolonged, powerful energy signature? That won't go unnoticed. I am proofing your apartment as I have warded my own living quarters- to make all energy signatures within the barrier undetectable to outside observers."

Nnoitra still looked leery, but not as anxious as he'd been before. Szayel took this as tacit approval and went to work. He left his gigai in the place Nnoitra had cleared for it, taking care to control the spread of his reiatsu. Channeling it into kidou, he began to walk the perimeter of Nnoitra's living space.

It was a Shinigami skill, kidou. Hollows did not use it. Their abilities were inborn and instinctual, and even the zanpakuto of the Arrancar were just a physical manifestation of their powers. But that did not mean that they were incapable, and Szayel had developed his own brand of it. It was highly ritualized, usually requiring some form of recitation to access the energy and manipulate it in specific ways. For this reason, they often called it magic. The words were a spell. But it wasn't magic. It was science. And he'd learned how to control it in much more versatile ways. Szayel manifested his kidou mathematically. The ritualized words became numbers, the numbers became codes that he manipulated into whatever he could conceive of. He programmed reality. The only limitations were his own, finite source of spiritual energy and his imagination. It also took considerably more time than Shinigami kidou, which made it ineffective in combat.

But combat had never really been his forte anyhow. He occupied a different niche, and the technique he'd developed suited him perfectly. He could work feedback loops into his spells, making them stable and self-sufficient. The amount of concentration they required at the time was extraordinary, but once he was finished, he rarely needed to revisit them. And he could create maps of existing code to base other spells off of, speeding up the process each time. This barrier was one he'd created before. It was a simple task to recreate it, and within ten minutes, he had the place completely covered. He even took the time to weave in a few protective spells, designed mainly to prevent lower class Hollow from entering or destroying the apartment. Satisfied with his work, he finally cut the line between himself and the kidou. It hummed for a moment, then faded into the background, passive until he called it back to his attention for modifications.

He found Nnoitra in the living area and joined him. The space heater was going strong, exuding delicious waves of warmth. Nnoitra had a pile of blankets and was currently bundled in all of them, though he graciously offered the edge of one when Szayel arrived.

"Keep it. With your lanky physique, you are very poorly equipped to handle cold. There's a reason why populations native to colder regions are more compact in their builds."

"You're skinny'n tall too. What's your excuse?" Nnoitra replied, reclaiming the proffered blanket.

"I'm not in my gigai anymore. Temperature extremes do not impact me the same way, but especially not the cold. Where I am from, it is always cold."

"You walk around in this kind of weather dressed in that?"

Szayel glanced down at his uniform. It covered all of him, but the material wasn't particularly thick.

"Well, it doesn't snow in the desert, but yes, essentially. Most Arrancar wore less than I do. Significantly less."

"Did… uh…" Nnoitra looked uncomfortable. Szayel deduced the nature of his question and cast him a look of amused surprise. Catching his look, Nnoitra scoffed. "S'just clothes."

"Your jacket exposed a good third of your torso at least." Szayel drew the area on his own chest with a finger. Nnoitra raised an eyebrow.

"That's pretty bold."

"You don't know the half of it. Your entire outfit was ridiculous, actually."

"Eh, you're one to talk. You're always wearing weird stuff."

"I have taste. You had a collar shaped like an oversized spoon."

"You're jokin'."

"Why would I even make that kind of detail up? Truth is stranger than fiction."

"Really though?"

"You always did have something to prove. Perhaps it was an invitation for insult to give you the excuse to pick a fight."

"Well maybe my spoon hood was the fuckin' height of fashion and you just couldn't appreciate it cuz you're a little snobby bitch."

Szayel grinned despite himself. It was good to banter. Furthermore, it was good to banter about a topic he'd come to accept as taboo while relaxing as himself in a safe space. He let some of the grip on his spiritual energy relax, and it swelled out to fill the apartment. Nnoitra sat up straight, startled by the sudden flux. The pressure must have felt strange. Szayel still kept much of it under control, not wanting it to become oppressive.

"I take it this is what you warded the place for?"

"Yes."

"It feels so heavy."

"It will for a while, but you will acclimate. You have your own spiritual pressure, you know. Everyone does to a certain extent. Yours is just considerably less powerful than mine, though rather notable for a human."

"It is?"

"I mentioned it when we first met. I was surprised you hadn't had any encounters with Hollows. Actually, I've noticed that your spiritual energy has been growing recently."

"And… what does that mean?"

"It means that you're becoming more of a target for spiritual activity. Spirit beings will be drawn to you, both benign and malignant."

This bit of news did not sit well with him. Nnoitra narrowed his eyes.

"Why is this happening?"

"I am not certain. Some humans develop spiritual abilities naturally. Others can have latent spiritual ability triggered by external influences. Given that you live in Karakura, my guess would be that it is a combination of the two."

"Could you count as an external trigger?"

"Yes, but the amount of time you have spent around me in my Arrancar state is negligible. You would have to have prolonged contact for it to become a factor."

"Nn… I don't like this."

"The wards I enacted will stay up as long as you want them to. Your apartment is a protected space now."

"Yeah but, I still gotta leave my apartment."

"At the moment, you're more likely to be targeted by the living than the dead."

Nnoitra grunted at this, face twisting sullenly. Szayel looked him over, wrapped up in his blanket cocoon, and shook his head. He looked about the furthest thing from being capable of handling a lone Mafiosi, let alone a Hollow. Such a long way to fall from his previous incarnation.

"I know you feel… strongly about our training sessions. But how opposed would you feel to developing those latent spiritual abilities? At the very least, you could learn to control how much spiritual pressure you exert and avoid attracting attention to yourself. And if you wanted to, you could develop them to the extent where you could adequately defend yourself if attacked."

He'd never forgotten the idea, just hadn't quite found the right moment to bring it up. But now felt appropriate. He hoped Nnoitra would agree to it. It was a fascinating proposal. He hadn't ever worked with human abilities. Nnoitra seemed a little uncertain though. He could see the hesitation in his face. He needed a push. Szayel had an idea.

"Don't answer just yet. I realize I've been rather unyielding about the training sessions, and I haven't done much to represent this all in a positive light. You would naturally associate developing spiritual powers with violence. But that's not all they're limited to."

He focused, murmuring numbers under his breath to help him visualize the kidou, then pinching the air, formed the finest filament of light out of the energy swirling around him. It looped around his fingers like a snake, then began to weave itself into a pattern. After several moments, he had a square handkerchief of rippling, glowing fabric hovering above his fingertips.

"They can be a creative force."

Nnoitra stared at the luminous fabric, then pulled off the layers of blankets so that he could reach out and touch it.

"What is it?" he asked as he handled the light fabric.

"Whatever you want to call it. It doesn't have a name."

"What's it made out of?"

"Spirit particles."

Szayel disassembled the bonds he'd forced them into, and the fabric evaporated in Nnoitra's hands. He still looked wonderstruck.

"What else can you make?"

"Just about anything I can think of."

"Could I do that?"

"Probably not," Szayel admitted, "It requires phenomenal mental capacity. And I do not know what sort of potential you have. I have not done much research into the spiritual capabilities of humans. But I imagine their manifestation depends a great deal on the soul itself. For example, there was one particularly notable human girl with the ability to create negation fields powered by the strength of her emotional conviction. She was literally able to reject reality and rewrite events within the barrier of her influence."

"That's amazing."

"She really was something. I regret that I was not able to study her in greater detail. Aizen entrusted her to another Espada who was very good about keeping her away from me."

"What happened to her?"

"She was rescued. She went on to live her life, though she died fairly young in a car crash."

"And you know this why?"

"I kept close tabs on all of Karakura's heroes. They had the capacity to interfere with my plans if they realized it was an Arrancar behind Phoenix Corp."

A leery look replaced the open one on Nnoitra's face. Szayel berated himself internally for his slip up. He was so perceptive. It was highly inconvenient at times.

"Did you have her killed, Szayel?"

"Why would that benefit me? I already expressed interest in studying her."

"You had plenty of time to study her if you'd wanted to."

"It's not as simple as that. She was well known to the Shinigami, and she had some formidable friends who would have noticed if she'd gone missing."

"Seems like that makes her a no go for studying. Did you kill her?"

"She died in a car crash, Nnoitra."

"Arranged or accidental?"

Szayel sighed, growing impatient with this line of questions. It was clear Nnoitra had already come to a conclusion, no matter how he answered. Well, if he really wanted the truth, he could have it.

"Arranged. There, are you satisfied now?"

Nnoitra was quiet for a while. It was somehow worse than anything he could have said. Silence was inscrutable. Szayel could guess at what he was thinking, but until he opened his mouth to confirm it, all he had were his speculations. And then he did.

"I don't know what to say, Szayel. I just don't know. That's who you are. I get that. I don't know if I can deal with it though."

He spoke so hesitantly. The set of his body wasn't rigid, but he was also plainly uncomfortable.

"You've done a lot for me. I haven't forgotten. I'd be dead or badly injured by now. And what happened to you with the Shinigami? That sounds legitimately awful. That's a lot of trauma to live with. Your whole existence sounds pretty traumatic, frankly. I can understand why you are the way you are. But I'm not sure I can really justify it either. There are things I like about you, Szayel. But there are also things that I'm really struggling to come to terms with."

Szayel closed his eyes, sifting through the array of emotions his words evoked, suppressing those that were dangerous.

"Of course," he finally said in a voice that was carefully neutral.

"So… what now?"

"I don't know, Nnoitra. That is entirely up to you." Szayel's eyes opened, and he glanced sidelong at the other man, waiting for his reaction. Nnoitra's brow furrowed. He looked even more uncomfortable than before.

"This is really awful timing…"

"Terrible."

"Fuck…"

Szayel left him to his confliction, stretching out on his back and staring up at the ceiling. Nonchalant though he appeared, at the moment, he would have loved nothing more than to be out of the confines of Nnoitra's apartment. Clinical detachment could only stall the inevitable buildup for so long.

"You really don't have anything to say?"

"What do you want me to say, Nnoitra?"

"I don't know. Anything. I fucking hate it when you go all cold."

"It is a protective measure."

"Protective for who? You or me?"

"Both, Nnoitra."

"Will you just fucking get angry instead of being so passive aggressive? You internalize so much shit and lock it all away behind that bullshit façade."

"That would be inadvisable."

"Szayel. I've seen you when you're angry. You're fucking terrifying. But I'll take a little heat right now if it means I'll get an honest reaction out of you."

"No."

"Why the fuck not?"

"Because that would entail a loss of control, something I abhor."

"I've seen you lose your shit, why can't you fucking do it now?"

Szayel's lips compressed into a thin line. This whole business was becoming tiresome very quickly.

"I am not proud of those instances. I do not wish to repeat them."

"Incredible. I never took you for the type to let go of something so easily."

"That is not the case."

"Yeah? Well, from where I'm standing, it sure looks like it."

"Oh, is that so?" Szayel replied, a bit of acid slipping into his voice.

"Yes!"

Szayel blurred, and in one untraceable motion, was in Nnoitra's face. He gave the human a shove, though he was careful still to moderate his strength. Nnoitra grunted as he fell backwards, catching himself on his elbows before Szayel pulled him back up by his shirtfront.

"Ok Nnoitra, since you pleaded so prettily, I will oblige you."

A flicker of doubt flashed in Nnoitra's eyes, but it was quickly followed by determination. It was a misplaced victory. Szayel wanted to extinguish it.

"What do you want of me? You started out using me. If that were still the case, we wouldn't be in this position. You wouldn't try to incite me, because you've seen how unwise it is to incite me. I have spent so much energy mitigating my own cruelty so that you might find this arrangement less psychologically damaging. Even those times I provoked you purposefully, I was kinder than I could have been. Because for all that I carry on about not being human, I've been acting so much like one. More and more, I find my instincts shifting. Don't do this, you'll upset him. Don't say that, you'll alienate him. Consider his feelings. Hold back. Downplay your history. Downplay your identity.

It makes me sick to think that I've changed so much. You asked me how I've been earlier today. Honestly? I've been revisiting the past and all my failures and all my losses. I've been rejecting the constraints that pretending to be human have placed on me. I could barely stand to put on my gigai today. I can barely stand to think about putting it on again tomorrow, but I will have to. I have to maintain this act, because if I don't, they will come. They will take everything from me again. And it is oppressive. To pretend to be something I'm not. To realize that, in the pretense, I am becoming that which I mimic. I am assimilating. I am dying. I am not the person I used to be. I am a much tamer version of myself. And you are a factor in that. Do you know the things that I've done? The things I used to do without a second thought? Because I could? Because it amused me to? And yet I hesitate now, when I once orchestrated the death of millions as a matter of course.

You're right, Nnoitra. I'm absolutely despicable. From a human perspective, I'm par with the greatest criminals of history. There is no excusing my actions. And yet you try. How charming. How utterly charming that you try to resolve that cognitive dissonance. But you may be on to something after all, seeing as I still showed up today. That even furious, desperately seditious, mad with grief and the _need _to withdraw from society, I still came when you called. And yet you have the audacity to demand my anger? Damn you. I do not owe you that!"

He was spitting the words out by the end of his diatribe, though his vehemence was still restrained. If he'd responded with the whole of his ferocity, Nnoitra would have been crushed. As it was, he could see the strain it placed on him. Szayel stood abruptly, the air crackling as he flashed across the room in an instant. He would have liked to pace, but the space was too small. At this point, he just wanted to leave. He needed to breathe, but there didn't seem to be enough oxygen in the room.

Surprisingly, for once, Nnoitra wasn't completely cowed. Perhaps because he'd asked for it this time. His stubbornness bore him through the fit and gave him the steel to confront an agitated Arrancar.

"You don't owe me shit, Szayel. Just the opposite really."

Szayel laughed. It was such a ridiculous statement. Of course he owed him nothing. He owed no one. Others were indebted to him. That was how he'd always operated.

"Didn't realize this thing was fucking you up just as much as it was me. What the fuck are we doing, really?"

"You tell me, Nnoitra. This is all new territory for me."

"I ain't exactly got the best track record for this stuff either."

"It's a form of insanity. That is what I have concluded. This is a state of insanity, and the sooner I divorce myself from this attachment, the better."

"Wasn't all bad though," Nnoitra said.

Szayel took a ragged breath, shaking his head. But… it was true. As awful as it was, it was true.

"No, it wasn't."

"Do you regret it?"

"Yes and no."

"Same here."

Szayel crouched down, eyeing Nnoitra across the room. A strange sort of calm seemed to have descended. It felt like a temporary lull- emotions still swelled on the periphery, threatening to spill over and sweep them back into chaos, but for the moment, things were almost peaceful between them.

"Could it have lasted?" he asked, more rhetorically than out of a real sense of curiosity. Nnoitra still answered.

"I dunno. I dunno. We're so different."

"We always were."

"Probably not then."

"Probably not."

"Do you want to stop seeing me?"

Nnoitra hesitated.

"I… don't know."

"It's a simple question."

"Ain't this your decision too?"

"I asked you first."

"Yeah, well maybe I don't wanna answer first."

"You're the one who prompted this whole confrontation. Just answer the question."

"Fine. I don't think I want to stop."

… It was not the answer Szayel had been expecting. At all. He blinked, processing the reply and still coming up short.

"What?"

"You heard me."

"Yes… but why?"

"Told ya. I dunno. I just don't. What about you?"

Szayel rose and paced in the limited space he had. By all accounts, he'd just mentally prepared himself to step away from the relationship he'd developed, but now the ball was back in his court. It was his decision to make. And surprisingly, it wasn't easy. He realized in retrospect how much of the initial drive behind his pursuit had been infatuation. He'd mislabeled the emotions, an easy mistake to make when he hadn't had much of a reference before. It was more obsession than anything else, paired with a clingy sort of possessiveness. Love, it had not been.

Now though? Oh, he acknowledged what an utterly terrible idea the whole affair was. They really were so incompatible. It was damaging them both. But he didn't want it to end either. He bristled a little at this illogical attraction, but it existed, and he did not want to let go of it just yet. Not if he didn't have to. Not even if it would probably benefit him more to do so.

Disgusting. It was good they were not in Las Noches. This kind of weakness would have been the end of him. He supposed that was one feature of his past that he didn't miss. No one could really judge him for his current actions when he'd survived them.

"I would like to continue, if you would," Szayel said.

Nnoitra exhaled, then whistled a few low notes.

"So, we're really doin' this?"

"I guess we are."

"Buncha masochists."

"So it would seem."

"I think… we gotta make a few changes. Like, clearly you need to talk more about Arrancar stuff and I need to shut the fuck up and get over my discomfort with that because that lack of validation is doin' a number on your psychiatric state. An' if it don't work out, oh fuckin' well, at least the reasons are out in the open and we part on civil terms."

"As I understand that compromise is a necessity, I will endeavor to be considerate of your boundaries in a way that does not affect my own mental health unduly."

"Alright. I think that's that."

A collective sigh passed between them. After a minute, Nnoitra flopped over onto his side. The space heater ruffled his hair as he stared off into space.

"Think I caught some've yer crazy…" he mumbled.

"It's about time."

"An' what's that supposed to mean?"

"Well," Szayel said, walking over to him again and settling down nearby, "You've had an influence on me; it's only fair that I rub off on you too."

"Ok but like, of all the traits I could've taken away it had to be that."

"Sadly, genius is not transmissible."

"Uuuuuugh."

"I could always artificially grant you that knowledge though."

"Already got a microchip in my head. Don't need you fiddling around with my brain more'n that."

"Not even for the secrets of the universe?"

"Humans ain't supposed to know that shit."

"I've already spoiled you on the afterlife."

"Exactly. Got enough of a head start as is."

"How dull." Szayel pulled some of the discarded blankets flat and lay down across from Nnoitra. "There is so much I could teach you, you know. I don't make that offer to just anyone."

"Don't doubt it. You just picked yerself the wrong man."

"You're doing a poor job of selling yourself."

"You're still around."

"A mystery I have yet to solve."

"Yer breakin' my heart, Szay."

"Good," he said quietly.

Nnoitra held his eyes briefly, then looked away. His lips twisted into a light grimace.

"Fuck," he finally said, dragging a hand down his face, "Well, can't say I've been too subtle."

"You don't do subtlety very well as a rule."

"So why ain't we been fuckin' already? That was your hold up, right?"

"Payback. I wanted to make you squirm for a while."

"You devious asshole."

Szayel smirked.

"You can't give me any time to get accustomed to things. I learn too quickly, and I'll take advantage."

"That's it. M'done waiting," Nnoitra said. He dragged him over, sliding a knee between his legs. Szayel covered Nnoitra's mouth with a hand before he could kiss him.

"Did I give you permission?" he asked. When Nnoitra rumbled against his palm, he grinned, then removed it and pulled him into a kiss. Hands slid down the back of his hakama in reply. Szayel shimmied closer when they broke for air, though their mouths didn't remain idle for very long. There was an urgency to their kissing that translated to everything else they did. Szayel's hands wound tight in Nnoitra's hair, then released the locks just as quickly to trace over his spine and ribs and hip, rarely resting in one place for more than a second. A restless thrum filled him, flushing his body with anticipatory warmth.

They both seemed to conclude that they were overdressed for the occasion simultaneously. Sitting up, they helped each other strip away the confounding layers of cloth, fingers both deft and trembling.

"Should prob'ly grab the lube," Nnoitra mumbled as he pulled him down again. His teeth found Szayel's collar. Szayel tilted his head back, fingernails raking down Nnoitra's back.

"Do we need to?"

"You're gonna want it."

Another bite, followed by a lingering kiss.

"How long will it take?"

"I'll be quick."

Nnoitra's breath feathered over Szayel's tender skin deliciously. Then he was gone, and Szayel felt the sudden loss keenly. He propped himself up as he watched the man disappear, eyes fixed on the raised, red lines he'd drawn down his spine. He fingered the marks on his neck, a rush of determination filling him. By the time Nnoitra returned, he'd arranged himself expectantly. The man paused when he reentered the room, eyelids lowering and lips parting slightly. Szayel cocked his head and smiled, his own eyes narrowing with pleasure at the reaction he provoked.

"This comes to ya way too easily for yer own good," Nnoitra said as he crossed the room and knelt again.

"Exhibitionism has always been in my nature," Szayel replied.

"Diva is what you are."

"Unabashedly. I do command adulation."

"And yet ya never let anyone adore you properly."

Nnoitra pinned his hands above his head, sucking his lower lip into his mouth. He drew blood, the salty tang exploding over his tastebuds a heartbeat later as Nnoitra's tongue pushed inside. Szayel reciprocated, though he left Nnoitra with a bloody lip of his own when he pulled away. Releasing his wrists, Nnoitra began to work his way down his body. Despite their earlier fervor, he took his time. Every inch of skin was given the appropriate consideration. He was almost reverent in his care, as he had been their first time. But his restraint was much thinner. Szayel could feel it, rippling under his skin. The way his hands shook slightly as he gripped his thighs and eased them apart. Szayel tilted his hips, testing his resolve. There was a moment of hesitation, but Nnoitra overcame it, glancing up at him from between his legs. Then his tongue snaked over the ridge of his Hollow hole.

Szayel moaned, head falling back against the floor with a thud. Memories flickered through his mind, but they were quickly replaced by his present pleasure. He managed to catch glimpses of the man between hazy moments of ecstasy. No less distracting was the sudden warmth of Nnoitra's mouth around his erection, achingly brief though it was. He arched his pelvis when Nnoitra moved on, protesting the cock tease. Nnoitra reprimanded him with a sharp nip to the inside of his thigh, right above his rank marking. Then, while Szayel was still savoring the sting, he straightened and yanked Szayel's hips flush with his.

The motion was jarring, but the sensation of Nnoitra grinding against him cut through some of the disorientation. He propped himself up on his elbows for leverage as he rocked his hips against Nnoitra's, lip cut opening afresh as he drew on it. His groin throbbed in time with his pulse, hot and heavy and coiled tight with building arousal. The muscles in his abdomen twitched. His eyes found Nnoitra's and held them. The man's pupils dilated, a quick flash, but Szayel felt a thrill of victory. Milliseconds later, and they were tangled up in each other, a frantic embrace that was all rough, hungry kisses and friction.

Nnoitra finally bore him down, breath heavy on his neck as two slick fingers slipped inside him. His patience seemed to have reached its limit, for the preparation was quick. The fingers withdrew. Their positions were rearranged. Szayel found himself with his back to Nnoitra's chest, one arm slung over him holding him snug as Nnoitra curved around him. Then biting down on his shoulder, Nnoitra lined himself up and thrust.

Szayel groaned at the intrusion. There was a moment of unbearable stillness as they both settled, then Nnoitra began to move in earnest. Szayel felt his nails cut into his palms, and he hissed. Then groaned again. Then finally lost most semblance of self-control as he writhed in Nnoitra's arms. His motions were somewhat restricted, which only served to heighten his pleasure. Inevitably, he peaked first, though his own, shuddering orgasm assisted Nnoitra's, who followed a minute or two later. Spent and feverishly damp with perspiration, they lay entwined for some time until the chill prompted Nnoitra to pull one of the many blankets over them. His hands drifted up and down Szayel's chest slowly as he curled back into him, nose nestled in Szayel's hair.

"We're doing this again," he finally said.

"Worth the wait?" Szayel inquired.

"Hell no. Should've done this ages ago."

"Merry Christmas to you too."

Nnoitra hummed, a low guttural sound, then kissed his neck.

"Couldn't have asked for a better present."

"We should probably get up soon."

"Nooope. I'm fucking you into the floor again as soon as you recover."

"Dinner is in the oven."

"Alarm hasn't gone off yet. We got time. Gotta figure out your refractory period."

"And if it's long?"

"Then we'll just have to work on it til it's not."

"Hah."

"Got a hunch it won't be though."

"Mm?"

Szayel shifted in his hold, flexing his muscles to stretch out the kinks before they settled. His body was pleasantly sore and would be sorer the more time that passed. Tomorrow was going to be interesting.

"Well, how much does that Hollow beast stuff affect ya?"

"Considerably."

"I'm no biologist, but parasites are pretty sexually voracious, right? To gain a fast foothold in their hosts?" Szayel felt his face scrunch against his skin. "Which is actually really gross to think about, nevermind."

"That would… explain a bit," Szayel mused.

"Yer a natural and ya didn't even know it."

"So it would seem."

"Can't let talent go to waste. Cryin' shame, that."

One of Nnoitra's hands ventured south. Szayel caught it, threading his fingers through the man's spidery digits before they could reach their target.

"Patience."

"Been patient," Nnoitra groused. He wiggled his hips to accentuate his point.

"Just a moment longer."

He could feel Nnoitra's impatience as he closed his eyes and savored the feel of them. How well they fit together. Nnoitra relented, seeming to sense the shift in mood. Then Szayel opened his eyes again and tugged their interlaced fingers down.

Nnoitra wasted no time in accepting the invitation.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Dinner was a casual affair. Szayel insisted they wash up, but they compromised on clothes. Pants were the extent of their dress. Szayel accessorized with a scarf. The apartment was warm enough to go without layers they'd only end up losing again later.

The lamb seemed to agree with Nnoitra, who was ravenous by the time they ate. Szayel worked on his food more sedately, swirling a glass of Syrah while he watched Nnoitra dine. His earlier use of kidou had stimulated his appetite, but it was still nowhere near as intense a drive as the human's caloric expenditure. They had a persimmon pie for dessert. By necessity, they spent time afterward relaxing to let the food digest. Szayel consented to watching some film with Nnoitra, though the specifics evaded him. By the time it ended, they were both a little restless. The clock read fifteen minutes past midnight. Christmas had officially come.

Nnoitra separated from him, returning with a little box. Szayel received it curiously.

"You got me a gift?"

"Yeah. It was way more expensive than it had any right to be."

Szayel slid the cover off. Fancy trimmings for the sole ticket within. He smiled, amused.

"You actually did it."

"Don't let it go to waste, pink freak."

"This was so unnecessary."

"It's what you asked for."

"You have to come and watch."

"Watch some person stick hooks through your flesh and string you up? Yeah, I'll pass."

"Too late, you bought the ticket. You endorsed this."

"Why can't you have hobbies that don't involve body horror."

"It's art."

"Torture. But whatever. I'll go."

"Good." Szayel closed the box and set it aside, then kissed his cheek. "I got you a gift as well," he said when he pulled away. Nnoitra looked intrigued.

"Ya mean aside from the sex?"

"Yes. Although you'll have to wait a bit longer before you get it."

"Huh."

"You'll understand later. Now's not quite the right time, I think."

"But it's Christmas."

"All the same, I think it's better to wait. Today has been… engaging."

"Not sure that's the right word for it."

Nnoitra tugged his scarf, and Szayel followed, leaning in.

"Bed this time?" he inquired.

Nnoitra grinned.

"Bed."

* * *

**A/N: **This chapter was going to be longer. This chapter was going to be a lot of things that didn't happen because I was brutally sidelined by another pairing around December 9th and enabled into writing a oneshot that turned into another long fic that is 11k and counting and probably won't see the light of day here until it is done. It is AizenSzayel for the record. You have Ryoko, aka Lewd Concubine, to blame for this. Go harass her if you wish. (Except don't really because she's great and puts up with my screeching about characters no one seems to care about)

Actually it's for the best that this chapter concluded a few thousand words early. I think stylistically it was the better decision. There's already a lot going on with it as is and the focus should be on the sex scene you've probably been waiting for since you started reading. (127k of unresolved sexual tension, ha!) I cannot be held accountable for how that turned out by the way. I was up til 6 am writing it because I procrastinated on writing it until the night before.

Next update will probably be sometime in January. My ambitions to get two chapters up on Christmas and a third on New Years were for naught.

Happy holidays to you, my readers. I wish you all nothing but happiness, and I will see you soon.


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